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Book . 


Copyright N° 



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HER 


Bright Future. 





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“ Dear love,” said he, “ the world is wide. 
But howsoever wide it be 
It hath no land nor sea 
To sunder you and me.” 

THEODORE TILTON. 



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CHICAGO : 


GEO. W. OGILYIE, 

Publisher. 

BOSTON:' CHARLES H. WHITING. 






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COPYRIGHTED, 1885, 

-BY- 

G-EO. •W. OGILTIE. 





\ 




HER BRIGHT FUTURE. 


CHAPTER I. 

KATHEEINH. 

** Full yellow lies the harvest field, 

Adown the broad hillside.” 

A wide field, crowned with waving grain rap- 
idly falling before the exertions of a band of tired 
harvesters. 

Two children, a slender dark-eyed girl, and a 
boy, stand near the edge of the field watching, 
with eager eyes, the movements of a self-raking 
reaper. Half fascinated, and a little frightened, 
they press back and away, as it comes around and 
passes them — the sharp sickle gleaming in the 
sun, the long arms of the rake, like those of 
an industrious giant, gathering the fallen grain 
and leaving it in long, straight rows of gavels, 
ready for the binders. They press close behind 
the reaper, for the field is wide, and there are dark 
clouds in the west, though overhead the sun is 
blazing in almost tropical splendor. 




io Her Bright Future. 

The harvesters make a motley crowd, be- 
ing representatives from many climes. “Jim,” 
Mr. Seymour’s hired man is driving the reaper. 
He is captain of the band — a stalwart “Hoosier,” 
six feet in height, with a broad face beaming with 
good-humor under his torn straw hat. 

The inevitable “son of Erin” is here, and a 
rollicking, muscular fellow he is, leading the 
binders, and only pausing for an occasional pull 
at the brown jug which stands in a shady fence 
corner. Its contents are not strong, being only 
water sweetened with molasses, and flavored 
with plenty of ginger ; but Patrick Kernon takes 
a long draught and winks roguishly over his 
shoulder to his comrades, as if it was the strong- 
est whisky ever distilled. 

Close behind Patrick come two voluntary ex- 
iles from “fair France.” Nicholas Goddrice is a 
slim, picturesque youth, with melancholy, south- 
ern eyes, and clear dark skin. He would make a 
handsome brigand, but his tastes are quiet and 
peaceable. Hypolite Antione is a different typ« 
of French peasantry, a great hulking fellow, with 
dangerously low forehead, and little, restless eyes, 
with the expression of a wild beast in them. 


Katherine . 


1 1 


Coarse-minded and brutal, he is not pleasant to 
look at — is even repulsive. 

That slow, conscientious worker is Steinburg, 
Mr. Seymour’s German tenant; and the man in 
heavy, blue woolen clothes, who works beside him, 
is Eric Olafson, lately arrived from Norway. His 
large blue eyes have a bewildered expression ; 
he has evidently not yet grown accustomed to our 
hurrying American ways. 

The remaining man, wearing the ruffled calico 
shirt, with sleeves rolled above the elbow and 
held in place by pink elastics, is a Yankee, as one 
can see at a glance. He and Jim are rivals for 
the favor of Lyddy, the “ maid of all work ” at 
the brown farm-house. She is coming down the 
path through the orchard now, a blue gingham 
sun-bonnet pushed back from her comely face, 
and a large basket on her plump arm. The men 
stop work as she comes into the field, and gather 
around the lunch-basket. Katherine and Tom 
come with the men, and Lyddy takes them under 
her care most affectionately. 

An odd, interesting face is Katherine’s — 
not exactly pretty, it is not nearly blooming 
enough for that; but full of promise in her 


12 


Her Bright Future. 


dawning womanhood ; a sweet oval face, with 
only the faintest tinge of color in the cheeks ; 
but it will never be called cold, with those starry, 
eloquent eyes ; and the long lashes are black as 
midnight. 

She looks anxious and troubled to-day. 

“ Oh, Lyddy ! has mother awakened yet?” she 
asks earnestly. “ I smoothed her forehead and 
bathed her head with camphor till she fell asleep. 
Then I came down here with Tom, for he wanted 
me to see how well the new reaper worked.” 

“Jest you rest easy about your poor ma, Miss 
Kathie,” answers Lyddy, “for she was sleeping 
like a baby the last I knowed about it.” 

“But she may awake and want me, Lyddy ; 
so I think I had better return to the house,” says 
the young girl, gravely; and she walks sedately 
up the orchard path to the house. 

Jim has finished eating, and is carefully exam 
ining the reaper before commencing work again 

“ Tom,” he calls to the lad who is standing av 
a little distance, “ you jest run up to the house, 
and fetch me the wrench that hangs in the wood- 
shed. This gearing is out of fix, somehow ; and, 
say! tell your pa to come down.” Then turning 


Katherine . 


r 3 

to the men : “ I’m afeard I’ve melted a box, and, 
if I have, why, we can’t work any more to-night. 
I don’t like the looks of them thunder-heads in 
the west, either. We’d best shock up what we’ve 
got down, for it looks to me ez if we was in for a 
bad night, and mebby a wet day to-morrow.” 

Mr. Seymour has strolled leisurely down to the 
field, and now takes in the situation at a glance. 

“Well, Jim, have you broken the reaper 
already ? What is the trouble, anyhow ? ” he asks. 

“ Oh, nothin’,” growls Jim, mournfully ; 
“ there’s a box melted, that’s all, and somebody’s 
got to go to Elgin and git it fixed, and it’s goin’ 
to rain pitchforks in less than three hours time.” 

“Well, well, my man! make the best of it,” 
says Mr. Seymour soothingly, not much disturbed 
by the accident. “ I will go to Elgin to-morrow, 
myself.” 

Jim makes no response to this offer, but his 
honest face clouds over as he walks to where the 
horses are patiently standing, and gives “ old 
Bay’s” bridle a jerk, which is entirely uncalled 
for. 

“ Yes!” he says between his teeth, “ You'll go, 
I’ll bet you will, and we shan’t ketch sight of yon 


Her Bright Future . 

agin for one three days, neither, and right in the 
middle of harvestin’, too.” 

Mr. Seymour walks back to the house with 
more alacrity than he has shown for weeks, and 
prepares to leave home. 

u Jim, is father going to Elgin ? I do hope he 
won’t go. Can’t you stop him, Jim ? ” asks Tom, a 
tremble of anxiety in his voice, young though he is. 

“ Stop him ! Tom, the devil can’t stop your 
father when he gits one of them wild hankerin’ 
spells on him, and this broken reaper gives him 
jest the excuse he wants,” says Jim. 

The boy looks very sad. 

“ Never you mind, Tom ! You ain’t to blame. 
No more am I only mind you don’t foller in his 
steps when you grow up, and so break your 
mother’s heart entirely.” 

“ There’s no danger of that, Jim,” the boy an- 
swers quietly. He is only a child in years, yet, 
as he says this, his face looks curiously manly and 
determined. These young Seymours are strange, 
precocious children. The lonely life of a prairie 
farm has helped to make them unlike most chil- 
dren of their age. But the shadow which dark- 
ant their childhood, making them anxious and 


Katherine . 


15 


wise beyond their years, is their father’s intem- 
perance. Every thing about the place shows the 
neglect of the master ; from the tumble-down 
fence which separates the western fields and the 
highway, to the brown farm-house, standing in 
the center of Mr. Seymour’s fair, broad acres, 
and full a mile from the nearest neighbors. 

Through a wilderness of trees, an avenue, 
half a mile in length, leads from highway to 
house. In midsummer the air is heavy with 
fragrance from the drooping white blossoms of 
the locust trees. There is a wild beauty about 
the avenue these Summer nights, when a full 
moon is in the wide heavens, and the wind blows 
fresh from the south, spicy with the scent of pen- 
nyroyal and sweet wild herbs. 

Katherine used to wander there alone in 
the twilight, listening to the twitter of sleepy 
birds, and nursing her odd, poetic fancies. She 
was a strange child, given to day-dreams. Flow- 
ers, to her, had expression, even as faces have. 
Daisies looked full of innocent surprise, while 
creamy June roses were so heavy with love and 
languor that they drooped ; tiger-lilies were warm- 
hearted things, though always jealoua. 


1 6 Her Bright Future. 

Woman and poet, her life could not fail to 
be one of suffering; as yet, she did not know 
much of life, but was as pure as the flowers 
she loved so well. Her mother was a refined 
New England lady ; and, when failure in business 
caused Mr. Seymour to seek this wild, western 
farm, she bore her trials bravely, and sol- 
aced herself educating her children. They were 
usually very happy, though for the past four years 
Mr. Seymour’s habits of intemperance had in- 
creased, and this was why so slight a thing as a 
a reaper out of repair brought a cloud over the 
entire family — the invalid wife, Katherine, Tom, 
and even Jim and Lyddy, the faithful servants. 

Mr. Seymour went to Elgin, and, as Jim had 
predicted, did not return for three days. Mean- 
while the laborers were idle. The anxious wife 
grew daily weaker ; Katherine tried hard to seem 
cheerful, but cried herself to sleep each night, 
thinking of her mother’s death-stricken face. 

Oh, what a dark cloud it was ! 


A Noble Soul. 


«7 


CHAPTER II. 

A NOBLE SOUL. 

“The parting of the sweetest soul 
That ever looked with human eyes." 

Walter, the eldest sod, had been with them in 
former years, — a brave, helpful youth, tenderly 
devoted to his mother, a comforter and friend to 
the younger children. 

The year that he died was a memorable one 
to Katherine ; from his death dates the dawn 
of her womanhood. She had been a dreamy, 
care -free child, but all the latent strength 
of her earnest character came to the surface in 
time of trial; after his death she was friend, 
companion and comforter to the gentle mother 
she loved so passionately. From that time she 
cast aside childish things, *and bore her share ol 
life’s responsibilities bravely. 

Walter had worked very hard all Summer, 
exposure and severe labor had weakened his 

undeveloped frame, and he had been very 

B * 


1 8 Her Bright Future, 

ill with malarial fever ; but youth and his 
mother’s good care were bringing him safely 
through. 

He was sitting up one night, for the first time 
in weeks, and was looking at his absent sister’s 
photograph ; he seemed too languid to express any 
enthusiasm, although it was an admirable likeness 
of her. 

“ I think I will go back to bed, mother. I 
am weaker than I thought,” he said wearily, 
when the door opened noisily, and Mr. Seymour 
came into the room. Walter turned paler as 
he met his father’s wild eyes, for he saw Mr. Sey- 
mour was in one of his worst moods. Glancing at 
the boy’s pallid face, the intoxicated man walked 
unsteadily toward his wife. He invariably abused 
his most faithful friends when he had been 
drinking. 

“ Why don’t you speak to me, madam?” he said 
in a threatening way. “ You should have beeu pre- 
paring your husband’s supper, instead of staying 
here with this sickly young fool.” 

“Oh, Alfred! please be calm! Poor Walter 
has been so very sick, you know,” was the gentle 
answer. But the demon had done its work well, 


A Noble Soul 


*9 

and the half-crazed man grew more violent and 
quarrelsome. 

“ Why don’t you attend to me, madam ? I’ll 
make you, then,” he shouted, and raised his hand 
to strike her. That cruel blow never fell upon her, 
though there rang through the house a heart- 
broken cry. Katherine will never forget how her 
mother’s voice sounded that night, — never ! 

Brave, faithful Walter had rushed forward, 
weak as he was, and taken the blow aimed at his 
mother. Crushed to the floor, lie lay perfectly still, 
with white face and closed eyes. Was he dead? 
No. So much excitement in his weak state had 
overpowered him. That was not the worst. On 
his blue-veined temple there was a dark, purplish 
mark, where his head had struck the sharp corner 
of a bureau. It is needless to relate how the an- 
guished mother bent over her son during all that 
long, terrible night. 

It was a cloudy Autumn morning. He had lain 
in a death-like swoon for hours, his finely propor- 
tioned head thrown back upon the pillow, his 
kindly, dark eyes closed, and the heavily fringed 
lids drooping upon the wan cheeks. They 
opened the door to admit air, and the wailing 


20 Her Bright Future. 

notes of a distant swamp-bird, floating in, made 
the inner silence mournfully impressive. Sud- 
denly his eyes opened ; there was a con- 
scious look in them. He murmured some- 
thing. “ Where is father ? ” Ah ! poor, faithful 
heart ! It turns with divine forgiveness and love 
to him who has so ruthlessly wasted the fair, 
young life. 

Katherine brought her father to the room. He 
is quite sober now. His drawn, agonized face 
does not look as it did a few hours since. 

“ So you wanted to see me, my boy!” he says, 
trying hard to speak calmly, his tender heart and 
loving nature showing itself now he was sober. 
As he takes Walter’s wasted hand in his own, he 
breaks down utterly, and sobs aloud. 

“ Oh, don’t! father, please don’t!” says Wal- 
ter feebly. “ I don’t blame you in the least, 
father. I only want to tell you not to grieve 
too much over what happened last night; you 
were not yourself ; you did not know what 
you were doing. I forgive you, father, freely, 
and pray that God may bless and help you.” 
Then, after a pause : “ I think I am dying ; 

every thing looks strange and dim, and it 


A Noble Soul. 


21 


seems so hard to breathe. But I want to beg of 
you to be kind to mother. Oh ! do promise me 
that, father ; I can’t rest easy until you do. If 
you must drink, stay away from home until you 
are sober ; you may strike her sometime when 
I am not here to stand between.” 

Mr. Seymour’s voice is half-choked with sobs : 
“ I’ll do the best I can, my dear boy,” he says. 

It is a few minutes before Walter speaks again. 
Then he raises his eyes to his mother’s face, and 
the old bright smile is in them. 

“ Mother, I stood b} r you till the last.” To 
Katherine, who is weeping : “ Don’t cry, little 
sister ! God is on my side, and I am on His.” 

He closed his eyes wearily, and they thought 
all was over, as the painful breathing grew 
almost inaudible. Once again those speaking 
eyes opened, to give them all the last loving look. 
Then the true heart ceased to beat. 

More of a hero in his truthful beautiful char- 
acter, in the toil and hardship borne so uncom- 
plainingl)', in his unselfish devotion to his family, 
than many a soldier who falls on the field of 
battle : Walter Seymour was dead. 


22 


Her Bright Future. 


CHAPTER III. 

MOTHERLESS. 

• Alas, the cloud grows darker.* 

Katherine and Tom sat in the orchard, talk- 
ing about their mutual troubles. The children’s 
faces were very sober ; over their heads the 
birds sang gaily, as if trying to call them away 
from sad thoughts. 

The saucy blackbirds chattered heartlessly, and 
the robin in the apple-tree sang as if his throat 
had suddenly changed into a silver lute ; two 
yellow harvest apples fell from the bough into 
the long grass at their feet, all unheeded. 

How sorrowful the past few weeks had been ! 
Their mother was much worse ; another hemor- 
rhage had left her completely prostrated ; all who 
looked at her felt that the leaves of the coming 
Autumn would fall upon her grave. That day 
when the reaper was out of order, Mr. Seymour 
had gone to Elgin, and drank deeply. He had 


Motherless . 


23 

not been so reckless before since Walter’s death. 
He now cast prudence and conscience to the 
winds, and was absent from home most of the time. 
It was a rainy season, and had it not been for faith- 
ful Jim, most of the grain would have been lost or 
badly damaged, as Mr. Seymour neglected every 
thing, now that the mad passion for drink was 
upon him. He forgot his sick anxious wife, his 
children, indeed every duty toward home, man 
and God. 

When sober, he possessed many noble qualities. 
Fascinating in manners, when he chose to be 
agreeable his easy independent grace won people’s 
liking. Strangers felt his refinement and mental 
strength, and instinctively paid him homage. 
His tenants looked upon him as a superior 
being ; he was a just and generous landlord. 
His personal appearance put to flight all one’s 
preconceived idea of an intemperate man. 
Deacon Dewey, a shining light in the Lin- 
den Center church — a neighbor of Mr. Sey- 
mour’s, and a man who had never, in all his life, 
drank any thing stronger than tea — looked far 
more like a drunkard than did Mr. Seymour. 

The traditional drunkard in temperance sto- 


24 Her Bright Future. 

ries, is represented with weak, watery^ eyes, 
a red and bloated face, slouching gait, etc. 
Mr. Seymour showed none of these outward 
indications of dissipation. In brief, Nature had 
gifted him with rare manly beauty ; and though 
for days he would break every law of physical 
well-being, a little quiet, with sober living, 
would restore the clear tints to his complex- 
ion, his nerves would become composed, his 
eyes clear and bright. Had you called upon him 
then, you would have been received with the cor- 
dial courtesy of an accomplished gentleman, which 
he was by birth and education ; and you would 
scarcely have believed that a few glasses of wine 
could change such a polished man into a half- 
crazed demon. 

Sadly conscious of his violence and irrespon- 
sibility when under the influence of liquor, he kept 
his word to Walter, and was absent from his wife’s 
sick room most of the time. 

It was very lonely for the children. Lyddy 
moved softly around the house, and never crooned 
long ballads to them now. 

“ Fd rather stay out here than in the Louse, 
Kathie, it’s so awful still up there now '* said Tom 


Motherless . 


25 

dolefully, as the children sat under the old apple- 
tree. 

“ It is because mother is so sick, Tom. Do 
you know, I sometimes fear she will never get 
well ? ” 

Tom’s lips tremble at these words, and he 
turns away to conceal his tears ; he is a manly 
little fellow, and half-ashamed to let Katherine 
see his grief. 

“ Dear brother,” she says softly, taking the 
orown hands in her own, “ I will always love 
you, and if mother dies you must come to me with 
all your troubles. I will try to do by you as 
she would have done.” 

“ You are always kind to me, Kathie,” he 
says, “ I don’t see how you could treat me any 
more kindly than you do ” 

Lyddy here interrupts the children’s talk. 
Standing in the porch she calls to them, “ Oh, 
Miss Katherine ! Katherine ! ” The girl springs 
to her feet, and bounds away like a deer. 

“ What is it, Lyddy ? Is mother worse ? ” she 
asks breathlessly. 

“ Wall, she’s awful poorly. Miss Katherine, 
you come inhere,” — beckoning Katherine to come 

i 


26 


Her Bright Future . 


into the pantry. Lyddy’s eyes were swollen and 
red with weeping. 

“ Oh, dear! Miss Katherine” — she says to the 
young girl who had followed her — “ the doctor 
has jest left, and when he saw your ma he looked 
dreadful solemn, and he says we must send for 
your sister right away — and — Oh, dear ! how 
shall I tell you the rest ?” and she burst out 
weeping. 

Katherine’s eyes grew larger and darker, and 
her hands clenched convulsively in the effort 
to be composed. 

“ Lyddy,” she says in a whisper, “ I know it 
all. Mother is dying.” 

“ Yes,” answered Lyddy. “ I dreaded to tell 
you, but the doctor said she could not live until 
Sunday. He said she might go any time. Oh, 
Kathie ! I am so sorry for you and Tom.” 

“I know you are, Lyddy,” says Katherine 
gravely. “ Have you sent for Helen?” 

“ No.” 

“Well, please tell Jim to saddle Firefly, and 
be ready to carry a dispatch to Elgin for me.” 

Mechanically she wrote the dispatch, and 
then stole softly into her mother’s room. Dur- 


Motherless . 


2 7 


ing that long night, she remained at the bed- 
side of her dying mother — a patient figure, 
watchful and quiet, but dumb to all Lyddy’s 
entreaties that she should try and get a little rest. 
“ I will stay with my mother while I can,” was 
her answer to all appeals. 

Good Doctor Gardiner came early in the morn- 
ing. 

“You are an early riser, my little maid!” he 
said, looking down upon her kindly. Something 
in the expression of her face made the doctor’s 
glasses grow misty, as he laid a kindly hand upon 
the brown braids. 

“ Poor child ! ” he said softly ; “ you are far 
too womanly for your years.” 

That afternoon Helen came — a very sad home- 
coming. Few words were spoken by the sisters, 
but a long, close pressure of the hand told their 
sympathy for each other, and strengthened them 
to bear the coming bereavement. 

Mr. Seymour did not stand by his wife’s death- 
bed. They had sent for him, and the children 
knew by their mother’s wistful eyes, how she 
P nged for his presence in that supreme hour. 

Jim had found him in one of his worst orgies, 


*8 Her Bright Future. 

singing and muttering to himself. He was in no 
condition to stand in that hushed chamber, where 
the angel of death hovered. 

It was in the early dawning of a Summer mom 
that the gentle soul found peace, and Katherine 
realized she was motherless. 


The Unbidden Guest 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 

I HE UNBIDDEN GUEST, 
though in silence, wishing joy." 

Helen Seymour was a tall graceful blonde, 
beautiful in a cool northern way, and possessing a 
clear strong intellect, which made her a most 
agreeable companion. Although at school, she 
was engaged to be married at the time of her 
mother’s death. Her betrothed was a man of 
high standing, and some wealth — a merchant in 
the village of Linden Center. He met her at the 
house of her uncle, Robert Seymour, had fallen in 
love, offered his hand, and had been accepted. 

Mrs. Seymour’s death, of course, delayed the 
nuptials ; but after a year had passed, Mr. Gay- 
lord begged for an early marriage day, and Helen 
yielded to his request. She was making prepara- 
tions for the coming June, when an unexpected 
sorrow fell upon them. Helen was mending her 
father’s coat one day, and found in the pocket a 


30 


Her Bright Future . 


letter, addressed in a woman’s hand-writing. 
Her bright face grew serious as she read it care- 
fully, and called Katherine to her side. To Helen, 
who knew the sly and designing nature of the 
woman who wrote it, the device was very 
transparent. It read as follows : 

Mr. Seymour. 

Dear Sir : Your strange language at my father’s house 
last Thursday evening demands an explanation. Will you 
do me the favor of calling, and explaining what was meant ? 
Please call as soon as possible, for I am very unhappy about it 

Truly yours, 

Jane Crossby. 

This was all ; and, although apparently harm- 
less, even a little prudish, Helen Seymour knew 
full well it was intended to lead her father into an 
intimate acquaintance. 

Mr. Seymour rented his farm to good tenants 
soon after his wife’s death, and removed to Linden 
Center, where there was an excellent academy, and 
Katherine and Tom were improving the educa- 
tional advantages. 

Among the many ladies who called upon 
Helen, the one she liked the least was Jane 


The Unbidden Guest. 31 

Crossby ; a strange, deep woman, with an unnat- 
urally soft voice, and cold, steely blue eyes. 
The woman called twice at Mr. Seymour’s, much 
to Helen’s surprise, as she had never returned 
the first, and indeed had treated her with 
very cold courtesy, not wishing to encourage 
further acquaintance. 

After reading this note, however, she was in 
no doubt as to Jane Crossby’s object in seeming 
so friendly. 

Father Crossby, as he was called in the village, 
had two daughters. Both were far past girlhood, 
being, in fact, middle-aged women. Jane, the 
elder, had studied medicine, and for five years 
practiced it in St. Louis. She finally returned 
to her father’s house, much to the sorrow of the 
family. She was a strange, wierd woman, and 
a mystery even to those who knew her best. 

Mr. Seymour, while under the influence of 
liquor, was in the habit of calling at nearly every 
house in town, much to the shame and sorrow of 
his family, who tried in vain to keep him quietly 
at home, at such times. 

One night he called at Father Crossby’s, and 
behaved in the ridiculous manner natural to 


32 Her Bright Future. 

a drunken man. He used strong language in 
the course of his conversation ; yet a lady would 
no more have thought of calling him to an account 
for it, under the circumstances, than of holding a 
lunatic responsible for his ravings. 

Jane Crossby, among other episodes of her ad- 
venturous life, had been a hospital nurse during 
the war, and heard worse language than Mr. 
Seymour used without a blush upon her im- 
passive mask-like face, or a quickened beat of 
her sluggish pulse. But now that there was 
an object to be gained, she thought it wise to be 
dignified. 

Mr. Seymour oalled upon her, and apologized 
for his conduct ; and of course, she forgave him. 
She even made herself so agreeable, that he re- 
peated his visit. The final result was that he one 
day brought Jane Crossby home as his wife. 

Helen greeted her step-mother so haughtily, 
that the woman hated her ever after ; and 
made home so unpleasant, that she was obliged 
to take refuge with her uncle, Robert Seymour. 

After her departure, Mrs. Seymour’s hatred 
fell upon Katherine, and made the sensitive 
girl’s life a burden. Mrs. Seymour forbade 


The Unbidden Guest . 33 

any communication between the sisters, and tyr- 
annized relentlessly over poor Katherine. 

When June came — leafy beautiful June, the 
month of all the year which Katherine loved, — 
Helen Sej^mour was married. Katherine’s heart 
yearned for her sister, those Summer days. Many 
and bitter were the tears she shed in secret. 
Appeal to her father was useless, as he seemed 
completely under the control of his wife. So the 
sisters rarely saw each other, though living in the 
same village. 

A few days before the wedding, a gossiping 
neighbor was telling Katherine about the bridal 
outfit. “Of course you’ll go to the weddin’, 
Kathie,” said Mrs. Weeks, crossing her arms over 
the gate, and settling herself for a long chat. 
“ Your uncle Robert is goin’ to make a splendid 
weddin’ for Helen, and her clothes are just beauti- 
ful. Miss Baker was up there the other day, and 
they showed her the veil. She said it was the 
handsomest thing she ever saw — real lace, and 
fine as a cob-web. Your aunt, Mrs. Judge Field- 
ing, sent it from New York. Helen will look like 
a Queen — she’s as handsome as one. You’ll go 

to the weddin’, Kathie, of course.” 

1* C 


34 


Her Bright Future . 


“ I am afraid my step-mother will not allow me 
to go, Mrs. Weeks! But I shall try, for Oh! 
I do so want to see Helen married. She is my 
only sister, you know,” answered Kathie. 

“Wall, 

A mother’s a mother all the days of her life, 

A father’s a father till he gets a new wife,” 

quoted Mrs. Weeks, shaking her head solemnly. 
Just then her twins began quarrelling. The 
good lady rushed into the house to separate 
them, and Kathie went sorrowfully home. 

She pondered long upon what Mrs. Weeks had 
told her, and that night dreamed she was “first 
bridesmaid ” at Helen’s wedding, dressed in pink 
tarletan, with rose-buds in her hair; but when she 
came where the minister stood, she glanced down 
and saw that her white satin slippers had changed 
into rough leather shoes, and her dress into 
old brown calico, much too short for her, and 
which she vainly tried to give a proper length, 
by pulling it down. She was weeping with disap- 
pointment when she awoke from her dream. 

The day before the wedding was a glorious one, 
fragrant with the scent of roses, and musical with 
the songs of birds, so numerous in that little tree- 


The Unbidden Guest . 35 

robed village. Timidly the young girl went to 
her father with her request. 

“ Oh ! father ! I do so want to see Helen 
married. Can I go up to the church to-night?” 

“ Your sister has been very ungrateful, Kath- 
ie,” he answered gravely. “ I have spent a great 
deal of money for her education, she has left my 
house, and now speaks of me very disrespect- 
fully.” 

“ But, father,” she pleaded, “ I only ask to go 
the church to see her married. I could not go to 
the ‘ reception’ at the house, for it will be quite 
grand, I suppose, and I haven’t any dress suitable ; 
at the church no one would notice me.” 

“ Well, well, don’t annoy me any more, child. 
Go ask your mother, and if she is willing, I am,” 
was the reply ; and Katherine, with a faint heart, 
went to her step-mother. 

She found her hard and unyielding as granite, 
deaf to all her eager entreaties. 

“If you go to Helen Seymour’s wedding, you 
can never come back to this house, Katherine ! ” 
was Mrs. Seymour’s answer. Katherine gave up 
the hope, and went sorrowfully about her tasks. 

In the middle of the afternoon, Mrs. Sey- 


36 Her Bright Future, 

mour came to her step-daughter and said she 
would allow her to go to the church that evening. 
Katherine was very grateful ; but there was a 
mocking light in Mrs. Seymour’s pale eyes as she 
added : “ You must let me dress you.” 

When twilight came, the young girl donned 
her simple attire, and was just putting on hat and 
shawl, when she heard the step-mother’s cat-like 
tread behind her. Mrs. Seymour’s face looked 
unusually wicked and malicious. 

“ Why, Katherine Seymour ! Are you going 
so soon? Don’t you remember I said I would 
dress you ? Come into my room.” 

Her heart beat anxiously as she followed her 
step-mother. She instinctively felt that some 
fresh torture had been prepared for her'. 

Mrs. Seymour took hat, shawl and dress, lay- 
ing them carefully away. She then drew from a 
heap of soiled clothes in the closet a tattered 
gown which Katherine had cast off years be- 
fore. 

“ Why, this dress looks ever so much better 
than that,” cried the girl in dismay. 

“I know it, Miss Katherine. That is just 
the reason I want you to wear this one, so put it 


The Unbidden Guest . 


37 

.on ! Any dress will look well enough for Helen 
Seymour’s wedding.” 

With trembling hands Katherine put on the 
miserable garment. After Mrs. Seymour had 
added a pair of coarse leather shoes, much too 
large, and an old brown hood, she surveyed her 
work with a cruel smile, and said, 

“ You know you can stay at home if you don’t 
wish to go in this garb. Ha ! ha ! ha ! You are a 
pretty-looking wedding guest!” and her shrill 
laugh sounded through the house. 

In poor Kathie’s heart, there was a fierce 
struggle between love and pride. Love con- 
quered, as it always did in that true, noble 
heart. 

“ I will go, madam ! ” she said firmly. Mrs. 
Seymour’s jeer was checked as she watched the 
quiet face, and saw the brave spirit choke back 
the tears. 

Katherine walked down toward the village 
church ; nobody noticed the odd-looking little 
figure, as it was almost dark. The street was full 
of people hurrying along and talking gayly. Such 
a wedding was quite an event in this small 
place. 


38 Her Bright Future . 

She kept her hood drawn closely about hei 
face, lest some one should recognize her. 

The church was brilliantly lighted, and full of 
people. Part of the seats in the central aisle 
had been reserved for relatives of the bride and 
groom. Toward these she walked, feeling out 
of place and guilty in this gay throng. The 
lights and hum of conversation bewildered her. 
Each moment slie grew more timid and unhappy, 
but resolved to make the best of it now she had 
come. 

She sat alone in the center of a pew, the back 
of which came nearly to her shoulders. Her great 
dark eyes shone like stars ; to her it was a 
brilliant and wonderful scene. The old brown 
hood, the shoes and dress were forgotten. 

The delicate mouth looked sad, but she held 
her slender form erect. She was womanly, 
and outwardly composed. Of the storm of 
feeling raging in her heart, there were few 
signs. 

The organist took his seat. The hum of con- 
versation ceased. The bride and groom walked 
slowly down the aisle to the jubilant strains of 
Mendelssohn’s “ Wedding March.” Katherine’s 


The Unhidden Guest. 


39 

heart gives a great throb, and then seems to 
almost cease beating. 

“ How lovely Helen is ! Graceful as a willow, 
pure as a lily,” murmurs Katherine to herself. 

The clergyman, in robes, stands waiting at 
the altar ; the bridal party is grouped before him. 
In a deep impressive voice he utters the first words 
of the service : “ Dearly beloved, we have gathered 
together ” — She can endure her pent up feeling no 
longer in silence. Leaning her head upon the seat 
in front she sobs passionately. Not one word of 
that marriage service did she hear, except “ Dearly 
beloved, we are gathered together.’’ Now it is 
over, and people are leaving their seats. 

“ Why, Katherine Seymour ! I did not know it 
was you. Come home with me, and do not feel 
so badly,.” says a kindly voice ; but she heeds it 
not. She creeps away from the crowd, and walks 
through the darkness to the place called home ; 
almost blind with falling tears. 


40 


Her Bright Future . . 


CHAPTER V. 

FROM THE HANDS OF THE HUNTER. 

“ Deliver thyself as a roe from the hands of the hunter, and as 
a bird from the hands of the fowler.” 

Mrs. Seymour was anxious to return to the 
farm. She had married Mr. Seymour solely for his 
reputed wealth ; and naturally wished to taste 
the sweets of possession. Therefore she con- 
tinued to speak of the advantages sure to fol- 
low their return. 

“ Mr. Seymour, your tenants steal hundreds of 
dollars worth of grain from you every year ; I 
could prevent the loss if I were there ; and as to 
the children’s education, they are well enough 
educated now. They read too much as it is. 
Katherine is too dreamy and romantic ever to 
make a sensible woman. Tom does nothing but 
pore over his books, and is growing lazy and 
effeminate. Let him work on the farm awhile. 
It will help to make a man of him.” 

Mr. Seymour consented, and a year after 


From the Hunter . 41 

Helen’s marriage they returned to the brown 
house. 

Once on the farm, every tree and shrub, 
every flowering plant, reminded Katherine of 
her dead mother ; of happy childhood days ; of 
the loving family circle, now broken ; only Tom 
and herself left. 

The birds sang joyously in the wild-plum 
thicket, and the locust blossoms made the air 
fragrant, as of yore. It was the same place, 
yet not the same to her, for the home feeling 
had vanished with her mother’s face. 

This cold crafty woman watched with lynx 
eyes every body on the farm ; quarreled with the 
tenants ;• railed at Katherine about some petty 
fault ; always saying unkind things about the 
girl’s dead mother. She cast a blight over all 
around her. Katherine never found time now 
to wander off with her book for a dreamy, happy 
half-hour. Mrs. Seymour always made some pre- 
text for putting the books out of sight, under lock 
and key. 

There lived upon the estate an honest and in- 
dustrious German named Steinberg, who worked 
eighty acres of land, keeping one-third of the pro- 


42 


Her Bright Future . 


ceeds. He had built a rough little cot near the 
farm-house. His wife occasionally assisted in the 
fields, leaving her three little children to amuse 
themselves as best they could. One day, while 
the mother was in the field, the youngest child 
wandered to the farm-house, and ventured in 
at the open kitchen door. Mrs. Seymour had 
placed a kettle of boiling water upon the floor, and 
the little fair-haired baby, after rolling her solemn 
blue eyes around for a moment, spied the kettle 
and started for it, expecting, no doubt, to have a 
fine time paddling in it with her chubby hands. 
Katherine sprang forward to prevent the child 
from touching it ; but her step-mother caught her 
extended arm in a firm grasp. 

“ Let her alone,” she cried. “ Just let her get 
well scalded, and she will know better than to 
come again, creeping around under my feet.” 

Katherine called warningly to the little one ; 
but it was too late ; she had plunged both baby 
hands in the boiling water, drawing them out sud- 
denly with a scream, in great pain and terror. 

Mrs. Seymour smiled. “ I don’t think I shall 
be bothered much more with her,” was her quiet 
remark. 


From the Hunter. 


43 


Katherine grew faint with loathing fear, as she 
saw her step-mother’s character in all its hideous 
cruelty. 

The little one wailed and sobbed piteously. 
Katherine, taking the child, bound up the little 
blistered fingers, carried her home, and gently 
hushed her to sleep. As she laid her in the rude 
cradle, and noticed how pale the tear-stained little 
face was, how, even in sleep, a sob would some- 
times shake her tiny frame — a thought of Kathe- 
rine’s dead mother, and of the living step-mother, 
came over her ; and she wept passionately. 

When the time came for threshing the grain, 
Mrs. Seymour would frequently remain out doors 
during the whole night, lest some tenant might 
steal a few bushels of wheat or oats. She man- 
aged all the farm business, and the tenants found 
her a much more difficult person to please than 
easy Mr. Seymour. 

One of them said to a neighboring farmer, to 
whom he had applied for land to work in the com- 
ing year : “ I don’t got noddings agen Missa 

Seymour — he vas a goot man, — von fery goot 
schentleman. He don’t be hart on a poor man : 
but I vould not schtay dare anudder year for tree 


44 Her Bright Future . 

tousand dollar, I hates dot voman of his so bat. 
Oh ! she be’s von deffel ! She do any dings. I gets 
’fraid, somedimes, she vill burn down mine 
schtacks. Somedimes she come ’round mine house 
nights, und looks in mine vindows; and she 
vatch, vatch, all de whole dimes.” 

The man had summed up. Mrs. Seymour’s 
character very well, in his broken English. 

One sultry Summer night Katherine lay awake 
and thought over her miserable condition ; what 
an aimless, debasing life this woman was forcing 
her to lead — a life against which every pure and 
noble instinct of her soul revolted. Kept away 
from her only sister, and all means of cultivation, 
forced to find occupation for mind and body 
in the drudgery of farm work, she was growing 
desperately moody, quite unlike herself. 

Thinking over these things that night a great 
longing crept over her. She arose, and, swayed 
by an irresistible impulse, dressed herself. Kneel- 
ing by the window, she looked out on the beauty 
of the calm night. She suddenly resolved to visit 
her sister, and ask Helen to take Tom and herself 
away from the farm — a place no longer home 
She could return before morning. 


From the Hunter. 


45 


Tom was sleeping in the adjoining room. She 
could hear him breathing heavily, poor boy, after 
his hard day’s work. Katherine passed into his 
room and looked upon her sleeping brother. 

“ If he was only awake now, I would ask him 
to go with me,” she said. “ How thin and wan 
his face looks in the pale moonlight ! Poor boy ! 
I will let him sleep. I haven’t the heart to 
awaken him. They have so broken and cowed his 
spirit with harshness, he would beg me not 
to go.” 

She leaned over and kissed his forehead softly, 
then stole back to her own room. 

A long, low shed sloped from her window 
nearly to the ground. Noiselessly opening the 
window, she stepped out upon the roof, and was 
soon down. Old Carlo, the Newfoundland watch- 
dog, heard her, and came out of his kennel, growl- 
ing ; she spoke in a low tone, he knew her voice, 
and crouched at her feet ; she patted him kindly, 
and whispered, “ Good bye, Carlo,” little think- 
ing it was a long farewell ; little thinking years 
and years would pass ere she gazed again upon 
Tom’s pale boyish face. 

She walked swiftly down the locust avenue, 


46 


Her Bright Future . 


out into the main road. The beauty and silence 
of the night awed her ; it touched and soft- 
ened her heart. The sordid life she had been lead- 
ing was forgotten. The latent poetry and rever- 
ence of her nature arose ; fanned into life by the 
novelty and beauty above and around her. 

She walked rapidly over the lonely road, yet 
felt no fear, although she had never been out so 
late at night before. A delightful feeling of fre e- 
dom came over her, and she longed to lift her 
voice in thanksgiving and gratitude to God f or 
His beautiful world. 

To-morrow she would be back under the same 
tyranny, to-night she would enjoy the freedom of 
Nature. 

She was only a child ; but in her heart a great 
change was working. Almost unconsciously she 
was casting away childish things, prematurely 
awakening to the earnestness and sadness of life. 
She was too much absorbed to notice that the 
moon and stars were hidden, and that the sky had 
grown almost black with hurrying masses of dark 
clouds. A vivid flash of lightning startled her. 
She was three miles from Linden Center, and not 
a house in sight. Her enthusiastic spirits for- 


From the Hunter. 


47 


sook her, and she felt weak and tired, but kept 
bravely on. It was useless to turn back now, for 
she was nearer the village than the farm. 

There came another flash of lightning, followed 
by a crash of thunder that seemed to make the 
earth tremble beneath her hurrying feet. Then a 
rush of wind, and the big rain-drops began to 
fall heavily. 

Katherine increased her pace, until now she 
was running, but the storm burst upon her in all 
its fury. 

Helen Gaylord, lamp in hand, had gone over 
the house, closing the windows which were 
left open on this sultry night ; returning to her 
room she heard a timid ring at the door. 

She hesitated a moment, it being almost one 
o’clock, and the night was wild ; but, laughing at 
her own cowardice, she went to answer the ring. 
Seeing no one at the door she peered out into the 
darkness ; Katherine, frightened at her own bold- 
ness, had shrunk back into the shadow. Helen 
at last caught a glimpse of a dripping forlorn 
creature. 

“ Who is it?” she asked. “Is somebody taken 
sick ? Do they want John to go for the doctor?” 


48 


Her Bright Future . 


“Oh! Helen’’ — said Katherine — “don’t you 
know me ? It is Kathie.” 

“ Kathie ! ” echoed Helen in amazement. 

“ Yes, Kathie,” was the answer. “ Oh ! Helen! 
I wanted so much to see you, and, as they would 
never let me out of their sight in day-time, I 
ran away to-night.” The rest of the explana- 
tion was smothered on the kind, sisterly bosom, 
to which Helen clasped poor Katherine ; laughing 
and crying over her, in true womanly fashion. 

“ My poor child ! You have been out in all 
this storm,” Helen cried, “and I did not know it. 
God willing, you shall never go back to that wo- 
man again, now you are away from her.” 

Katherine was muffled immediately in shawls, 
and by the time honest John Gaylord dressed him- 
self, and had come out of his room, rubbing his 
eyes and asking what was the matter, Helen was 
holding a steaming cup of tea to her sister’s lips, 
urging her to drink. But Katherine, being utterly 
exhausted in mind and body, was fast asleep. She 
had delivered herself, “ As a roe from the hands 
of the hunter/ s 


That Mysterious Somebody . 49 


CHAPTER VL 

THAT MYSTERIOUS SOMEBODY, 

M The gathering of the clan.* 

Katherine did not return to the farm for many 
years. She attempted to go back the same night, 
her love was so strong for Tom, but she was 
checked by Helen. 

“ Kathie, my dear little sister, I shall not allow 
you to go back to that woman again,” said 
Helen Gaylord earnestly; “she is robbing you of 
your bright, girlish years, and every opportunity 
of improvement — ruining you in every way. 
You must let Tom go for the present, and 
stay with me. I shall have Uncle Robert 
and Cousin Azariah over to-morrow evening, 
and ask them what is to be done about your edu- 
cation, which has been shamefully neglected.” 

Helen had concluded to call a council of rela- 
tives the ensuirg evening. Mr. Robert Seymour 

and his wife, md Deacon Azariah Carr, a cousin 

\ D 


50 


Her Bright Future. 


of Alfred Seymour, on the maternal side, came 
to her house. Deacon Carr was accompanied 
by his wife, Mrs. Lucinda Carr, or “ Cousin 
Lucinda,” as the two sisters always called her. 
She was a kindly lady and a firm friend of 
Helen’s. Having no children of her own, it 
pleased her motherly heart to be kind to other 
people’s. 

Mr. Robert Seymour was a tall, thin man, of 
gentlemanly address, and dignified manners. He 
possessed a generous disposition, and had proved 
a true friend to Helen, when driven from her 
father’s house ; but he had quite a large family, and, 
although in comfortable circumstances, had little 
means to spare. Like all the Seymours, he was 
well endowed with family pride, and declared 
“ somebody must do something for Katherine ; 
somebody must have her educated, so that, when 
older, she may provide for herself by some refined 
employment.’ 1 ' One that would not degrade the 
dignity of a Seymour, a lineal descendent of brave 
Sir Thomas Seymour, of Seymour Manor, Devon- 
shire, England. 

There was much talk during the evening, 
about this mysterious and indefinite “ somebody.” 


That Mysterious Somebody. 51 

Katherine — listening to the discussion, and feel- 
ing herself to be a useless and troublesome en- 
cumbrance — thought she would be very glad to 
see this person who owed her so much protection 
and assistance. 

“Yes,” said Cousin Azariah, “somebody must 
have Katherine sent to a first-class school.” 

Deacon Carr was an exceedingly worthy man, 
and had often expressed a deep interest in Kath- 
erine and Tom, the motherless younger children 
of Alfred Seymour ; and, partly because of these 
expressions, Helen had asked him to come to the 
family council. But the Deacon was a “ very near 
man,” as the Scotch say, and the fear that he 
might be called upon for some pecuniary aid, made 
him uneasy and taciturn. Like many others, his 
sympathy, when it did not take a costly form, 
came naturally and easily enough ; but when 
there was danger of being called upon to ex- 
press his sympathy substantially, he instantly 
grew more conservative, and quoted : “ God 

helps those who help themselves.” 

“ Yes,” said Deacon Carr, “ I say it’s a shame, 
Robert, that somebody don’t get Tom away too. 
Just see what a bad place it is for him I There he 


52 Her Bright Future. 

is, a growin' up without any schoolin' ; and that 
step-mother of theirn will never rest till she gets 
all A If ’s property away from him, and into her 
own hands. I tell you Alf gets wus and wus every 
day. I met him tother day coming home from 
town, and that bay mare of his’n was all covered 
with foam, and he a driving like the very old Harry. 
I hollered to him, and asked what was his hurry ; 
his only answer was a whoop like a wild In- 
jun’s, and he driv on. He driv so clus to my 
buggy, that he fairly scraped the wheel. He 
looked hard, Alf did, I tell ye.” 

“ Yes,” said Robert Seymour, “ the boy ought 
to be got away from there, — no doubt of it. He 
is a fine bright lad. I can’t see how Alf can let 
that woman influence him as she does, and dis- 
grace himself and family. If he must drink, 
why don’t he take his drinks at home, like a gen- 
tleman, instead of riding around as he does, 
calling on the best families in the country, when 
he is so beastly drunk ? Only last week, I hear, 
he called at Judge Harford’s at midnight, as he 
was riding home from Arlington, and knocked on 
the door with the handle of his whip. They were, 
very naturally, in no particular hurry to let him in : 


That Mysterious Somebody. 


53 


whereat his lordship was displeased, and smashed 
all the glass around the hall door ; howled about 
the house for half an hour, using terrible lan- 
guage, and finally went away. I think it would 
be a blessing to himself and others if he was shut 
up in an asylum, and kept there till he gets some 
common-sense into his head.” 

“Well, Uncle Robert,” interrupts Helen, “I 
want to ask advice of you and Cousin Azariah 
about Katherine. I can not for several reasons, 
have her here, although I should be glad if she 
were near me. I was sent away to a boarding- 
school, when younger than she is, and I know 
mother intended sending her to a good school in 
a few years ; she would there learn many use- 
ful things beside what she is taught from books. 
Self-reliance for one thing ; and then, she ought 
to have music lessons. She has a very sweet 
voice ; you should hear her sing. She must have 
lessons on the piano, and there is no teacher in 
town.” 

Cousin Azariah interrupted Helen to repeat 
that undent joke about a wash-board being the 
best instrument for a girl to learn to play on ; but 
nobody seemed to find this very mirthful, although 


54 


Her Bright Future . 


they managed to raise a feeble laugh, for Cousin 
Azariah was the richest man in the county, even 
if his jokes were, sometimes, in poor taste. 

Helen continued . “ You know that farm of 
forty acres which belonged to mother ; it was 
willed to Tom, Kathie and myself ; but, by the 
terms of the will, can not be sold till the young- 
est of the three is of age. There is not the 
slightest use of asking father for the money to pay 
for Katherine’s education ; and I was thinking, 
perhaps I might be able to borrow the money on 
my share 'of the land, paying it when the farm is 
sold. I could pay the interest each year. Kath- 
erine is welcome to my share, and will need it, as 
well as her own, before her education is fin- 
ished.” 

“ Oh ! Helen I ” cried Katherine, “ I can never 
take your money. I shall always hate myself if I 
rob you of your birth-right.” 

“ Hush, child ! ” said her sister ; “do you think 
I want to see you grow up an ignorant, helpless 
woman, with no means of taking care of your- 
Belf ?” 

“No, indeed.” 

“ W ell, the best way you can show your love 


That Mysterious Somebody . 55 

for me, will be by improving your time when at 
school, and growing up a woman of whom I shall 
be proud.” 

Cousin Azariah did not know before that the 
forty-acre farm belonged to the children ; he had 
been suspicious, at first, that Helen meant to ask 
pecuniary aid from him. He now cheered up agd 
snuffing a bargain, was on the alert and very gra- 
cious. He knew the land was near a good grain 
market, and would likely increase rapidly in value. 
He also knew Helen, being greatly in need of 
money, would likely take whatever sum he offered 
for her interest ; he was not the man to offer more 
than one-third of the real value. 

“ Well, girls,” he said, “you know I have always 
taken a deep interest in you children, and it has 
been a great sorrer to me, to see your pa go on 
so, with such a fine family growing up around 
him. I used to try to reason with him about his 
ways — ” 

“ Yes,” interrupted Mrs. Carr, “ Mr. Carr is so 
tender hearted ! Many and many a time he has 
come home from town and said to me : ‘ Lucinda, 
I saw Alf Seymour as drunk as a fool to-day, 
and there them childern of his’n is, growin’ up with- 


56 


Her Bright Future . 


out any Christian inflooences or Gospel privileges 
around ’em. I declare it’s too bad.’ ” 

Azariah cast down his eyes, and twiddled his 
thumbs, as though modestly deprecating his wife’s 
praise. 

“ Yes,” continued Mrs. Azariah ; “ Mr. Carr 
Jjas worried awful about you children ; only this 
mornin’ he was sayin’ that somebody ought to do 
something for Katherine.” 

Mrs. Azariah shook her head impressively at 
this grand climax, while Katherine and Helen tried 
to look properly grateful for such generous senti- 
ments ; but as said sentiments were not of such 
nature as to admit of definite thanks for definite 
services rendered, they kept a respectful silence. 

After a few moments, Helen resumed the con- 
versation ; saying, timidly, “ I had thought 
if Cousin Azariah would lend me the sum of four 
hundred dollars — taking my note, or, if he pre- 
ferred, a mortgage on my share of the forty-acre 
farm — I would be able to repay it with proper 
interest. With this I could provide suitable 
clothing for Katherine, and, by economical man- 
agement, send her to a good school for one year. 
This would be of great benefit to her,” added 


That Mysterious Somebody. 57 

Helen, “ if she studied diligently, as I know she 

would.” 

Deacon Carr looked very thoughtful for a few 
minutes. “ Girls,” he said, at last, “ I’ll tell you 
what I’ll do, seein’ it’s you, and feelin’ a deep 
interest in Katherine.” Here he sighed, and 
taking out his pocket-handkerchief, solemnly 
wiped his nose. Helen, listening breathlessly, 
thinking that Cousin Azariah, being childless, had 
concluded to do some generous action. Perhaps 
he was about to say he would send Katherine 
to some excellent school for one year at his own 
expense. She thought how she had wronged him 
in her own mind by calling him selfish and 
avaricious, ready to talk loudly of what ought to 
be done, but never putting his hand in his own 
pocket to draw forth one cent for a generous act. 

“ He is really good at heart,” thought Helen, 
“ and will prove a true friend in our need.” 

Cousin Azariah continued : 

“Yes, girls, I’ll do it, although times is very 
hard, and it took my last shillin’ to pay taxes 
this year. I don’t care fer the land, fer ’tain’t 
worth much to me. I’m ‘ land poor ’ already ; but 
if you want money so bad, I can git two him- 
s* 


58 


Her Bright Future . 

dred dollars fer ye, I guess, and you can sell me 
your share of the farm, Helen. You can’t look 
after it yourself, any way, and I don’t want to 
take your note, or a mortgage on the land, fer 
nobody can’t never tell what may come up about 
sich things. Jist as like as not, yer pa might 
pitch into me about it, and I am gettin’ old, and 
don’t want no lawsuits onto my hands. 

“ Pshaw, Helen ! your sheer in that farm ain’t 
worth no two hundred dollars; but I can’t see 
our Kathie growin’ up without an eddication, fer 
lack of a little money.” 

“ But the land really belongs to us children, 
Cousin Azariah,” said Helen ; “ so, why not take 
a mortgage, and lend me the money?” 

“Wall, of coorse, you kin take that offer, or 
not, jest as you feel about it,” answered the 
deacon ; “ but I am an old man, and don’t want 
no lawsuits. If I should git into law, it would 
ruin me.” 

Poor Helen, being hard pressed, gave her 
consent to the bargain, while the cunning old 
hypocrite, chuckling to himself over his good 
luck, assumed the air of a great benefactor. 

So great an effect has cool presumption upon 


That Mysterious Somebody . 59 

most minds, that, although Helen had a secret feel- 
ing he was not a loser by the affair, she found 
herself thanking Cousin Azariah most humbly. 
A few days later, the sale having been concluded, 
he handed her two hundred dollars. 


6o 


Her Bright Future 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE PEN-PORTRAIT OF A GENTLEMAN 

“And thus he bore, without abuse, 

The grand old name of gentleman.” 

Katherine’s two years at school were quiet 
and uneventful. She learned rapidly, and at sev- 
enteen was a lovely girl, and bright scholar, with 
a mind well stored with knowledge for one so 
young. 

A letter came from her aunt, Mrs. Judge 
Fielding, of New York, containing a most cor- 
dial invitation for Katherine to come East, and 
spend a year with her relatives there. After 
some deliberation, the sisters accepted the invita- 
tion, pleased with the prospect of the superior social 
advantages Katherine would have in that brilliant 
city, and grateful to an aunt whom they had never 
seen, for this kindly recognition. 

In the back parlor at Judge Fielding’s, a party 
are enjoying a quiet game of whist. A glowing 


Portrait of a Gentleman . 61 

fire in the grate, makes the handsome room, with 
its rich heavy furniture, look bright and cheery. 
This evidently is a home where cultivated taste 
has selected the adornments, and a full purse paid 
the bills. Several fine paintings hang upon the 
walls, among them a portrait of the lady at the 
whist-table, who is rebuking her daughter for a 
careless play. The portrait was painted nearly 
thirty years ago, when Mrs. Fielding was a bride ; 
but time dealt kindly with her, and the peach- 
like cheek retained its bloom ; the haughty and 
regular features, the brilliant, dark eyes, were the 
same. 

The hair is silvered, and the face, which was 
as careless and smiling as a child’s when the por- 
trait was painted in repose, is now anxious. 

She is dressed to-night, in a heavy black silk, 
plainly made ; upon her head a small square of 
point lace ; a collar of the same is fastened by a 
curiously fashioned cameo. She is a regal looking 
woman, and far more likely to attract admira- 
tion, even now, than either of her daughters. 

The jolly, portly gentleman, who resembles 
in appearance the traditional English squire, is 
Mr. Edward Seymour — Mrs. Fielding’s brother 


62 


Her Bright Future . 


— a man of wealth, dignity and accomplishments. 
He can sing delightfully ; tell a story wittily, 
never coarsely ; entertain a select dinner-party 
charmingly ; or quote Latin when the occasion 
demands, without seeming in the least degree 
pedantic. 

He inherited a moderate fortune, which his 
marriage with a wealthy heiress had greatly 
increased. Not being troubled with an ambition 
to become wealthier, he settled down in a hand- 
some mansion near his favorite sister, and philo- 
sophically concluded to take the world in a gen- 
tlemanly, easy manner. 

In matters of art he is a thorough critic. In 
addition to his natural taste for such things, he 
spent several years in Europe among the grand old 
pictures and sculpture stored in its classic centers. 
During his stay he also gathered material for the 
Seymour family history which he has now nearly 
completed. + 

He is a most genial companion, for in addition 
to the advantages of travel, his leisure life has 
given him opportunity for study and literary pur- 
suits. At times he is a little cynical. He is rather 
vain, although a stranger would not suspect it, for 


Portrait of a Gentleman. 6 3 

he keeps this well hidden under his courtly, digni- 
fied manner. 

His clear, fresh color is more English than 
American. His slow drawling pronunciation, and 
indifferent manner of delivery, make his sarcasms 
doubly cutting. 

He has just made one of his cool speeches to 
his niece — Miss Lottie — reminding that young 
lady of the decorum due to whist ; she stops her 
merriment, and studies her cards attentively. This 
bright, merry girl, is just home from boarding- 
school. She sees the ridiculous side of every thing, 
but is warm-hearted and winning; neither she, 
nor her sister Sarah, has inherited their mother’s 
beauty, much to the mother’s sorrow, who never 
ceases to bewail this lamentable fact. 

Hugh Fielding, now at college, is a true Sey- 
mour, being tall, straight, and well formed. He 
has a handsome face, and the graceful manners of 
a courtier. 

Sarah is at the piano, playing light airs from 
a favorite opera. She is plain, but a very intel- 
ligent girl of twenty-seven. Mrs. Fielding is dis- 
appointed that Sarah, being her daughter, has 
not married some foreign nobleman, or an Ameri- 


64 Her Bright Future. 

can millionaire. Judge Fielding — a grave, sensi- 
ble man — is in no hurry to see his daughters 
leave the shelter of home ; the mother thinks it 
reflects seriously upon her management that Sarah 
should remain so long unmarried. She has be- 
come recently convinced that Hartley Barron is 
Sarah’s only hope ; if he does not propose soon, 
she is determined to give the girl up as a con- 
firmed old maid, and push Lottie more into soci- 
ety; sometimes she thinks, with a shudder, she 
may have both daughters left upon her hands. 

The truth is, Sarah’s maidenhood is partly due 
to her mother’s folly. Mrs. Fielding has “ man- 
aged ” too much, and her zeal has driven away 
several eligible suitors, who were really fond of 
Sarah. Matters were often progressing very well, 
when Mrs. Fielding’s anxiety would get the better 
of prudence. She would be so affable toward the 
gentleman, that Sarah, knowing by sad experience 
her mother’s foible, would become alarmed, and 
turn cool and reserved, to counterbalance her 
mother’s transparent kindness. 

Mrs. Fielding, with what she considered ex- 
quisite delicacy, would inquire about the gentle- 
man’s family, or, perhaps, ask the amount of his 


Portrait of a Gentleman . 65 

income. Sometimes, of course, her questions 
would be politely answered, but the suitor would 
think mamma was quite too anxious to have her 
daughter settled, and would slowly retire from 
the field. 

This so galled the proud spirit of Sarah, that she 
would request her mother never again to ques- 
tion gentlemen about their incomes, or praise her 
to them. Mrs. Fielding, being nettled, would 
remark testily, “ Your being an old maid need not 
be laid at my door. If I do ask questions some- 
times, they are so carefully disguised that no man 
would imagine I had any object beyond mere curi- 
osity. No, Sarah, you look like the Fieldings — 
you act like them. Hugh is the only child I 
have who does not disappoint me.” 

“ Mother,” Sarah would answer with tears in 
her eyes, “am I to blame because God did not 
make me beautiful ? ” 

“ It is not the lacking of beauty alone,” Mrs. 
Fielding would answer, “but you are so stub- 
born ! Why are you so cool toward Hartley 
Barron ? ” 

“ It is my way, mother ; if a man loves me, 
he will have the courage to say so without my 

■ 


66 Her Bright Future. 

meeting him more than half way,” Sarah would 
reply. 

Despite these foibles, Mrs. Fielding was a 
woman of intelligence, dignity, and feeling. But 
she was a victim of the mania which troubles 
all fashionable mothers more or less, and she did 
not conceal it as skilfully as some would have 
done. 

But we will return to the party in the back 
parlor. The game of whist was over, and Mr. 
Edward Seymour was in the hall, putting on his 
overcoat, when Mrs. Fielding called him back. 

“ Don’t go yet, Edward,” she said, “ I want to 
speak with you a few minutes. You know Kath- 
erine Seymour will reach New York to-morrow 
night, and some one must go to the depot to 
meet her. Can you go, and take Lottie with 
you?” 

“ Certainly I will go,” was Mr. Seymour’s an- 
swer. “ I presume the poor child will feel bewil- 
dered at first, and be very glad to see a friendly 
face after her long journey alone. I hope she will 
be a credit to us. Of course, she will be awkward 
and bashful at first, coming from that barbarous 
country. Alf was a fool for ever going west, 


Portrait of a Gentleman. 67 

when he could have done far better here, poor 
fellow.” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Fielding, “I don’t know, 
of course, what the child may be ; she is a Sey- 
mour, Edward, and unless she proves a notable 
exception, will have brains enough to learn rap- 
idly, now that she has an opportunity, and tact, 
too, not to show her ignorance. 

“Alfred was very agreeable and polished in 
his manners, and if she resembles him in person, 
I am sure we shall all be proud of her.” 

“ Alf looked well enough,” said Edward Sey- 
mour. “ All the Seymours are fine-looking — but 
he had no firmness. I only hope she possesses 
more strength of character than her father did.” 

“ I wonder if she will be nice ! ” said Lottie. 
“ I hope she plays, for I want some one to play 
duets with me, ever so much ; Sarah never will 
keep time.” 

“ Now be sure and call for me to-morrow even- 
ing,” she called to her uncle, as he closed the 
hall door. 

The next evening, Lottie and her uncle were 
at the depot as the train from the west came in. 

“ How shall we ever find her, Uncle ? ” said 


68 


Her Bright Future, 

Lottie. “ She wrote that she would wear a gray 
suit, but half the ladies wear gray traveling suits, 
so that is no distinction.” 

They stood watching the crowd of people that 
came out of the cars ; some of the ladies looked 
frightened at the clamoring hackmen, who leaned 
. over the railings, shouting and beckoning. 

One young girl, in a gray traveling suit, 
seemed very timid, and looked bewildered. Mr. 
Seymour thought that she must be his western 
niece ; going up to her, he touched her gently 
on the arm, and asked, “ Is your name Katherine 
Seymour ? ” 

“ No, sir,” answered the young lady. 

Just then Lottie seized her uncle’s arm, saying : 
“ Oh, Uncle, just see that lovely girl coming out 
of the car. I declare, she looks ever so much like 
Hugh.” 

Mr. Seymour elbowed his way through the 
crowd, and met the young lady, who was walking 
along quickly. 

“ Is this Katherine Seymour ? ” he asked, quite 
sure he was right this time ; he, too, noticed her 
remarkable resemblance to Hugh Fielding. 

“Yes, sir, my name is Katherine Seymour,” 


Portrait of a Gentleman. 69 

she answered, giving him a quick, bright look 
from her pleasant brown eyes, “and you, I pre- 
sume, are my Uncle Edward.” Thus the first 
plunge into acquaintance, with her strange rel- 
ative, was over. 

Mr. Seymour led her to Lottie, who was so 
amazed at the quiet, graceful manners, the beauty, 
and generally refined appearance of her cousin, 
that, for once, she could not talk. 

“ I declare, mother, I don’t see where she ever 
got that easy manner, out in that horrid West,” 
said Lottie to her mother when they were alone 
for a moment. 

Mrs. Fielding remarked : “ Oh ! she is a thor- 
ough Seymour, Lottie.” That fact was sufficient 
reason why she should possess all the graces of 
mind, manner and person. 

Mrs. Fielding had a number of handsome dresses 
made for her, and they spent nearly every evening 
out, or receiving company at home. Thus Kath- 
erine entered on a life that seemed to her all 
brightness. 

Lottie talked often to Katherine of a gentle- 
man named Hartley Barron. 

“Mother wants him to marry Sarah,” said 


70 


Her Bright Future . 


talkative Lottie. “ He is called one of the best 
lawyers in the city, and so young, too, for such 
fame — only twenty - nine ; but he is so very 
dignified and sober, that I don’t like him nearly 
so well as Harry Featherstone, although I sup- 
pose he has six times the brains Harry has. He 
has a splendid voice, and sings sweet old-fash- 
ioned songs.” 

“ Who sings old-fashioned songs ? ” asks Kath- 
erine. 

“ Why, Hartley Barron, of course. He never 
will sing opera songs, and says he never had any 
ambition to rival a stage tenor, although he could, 
I’m sure, if he only chose to sing opera music.” 

“Describe him, Lottie, for I want to know all 
about this possible cousin of mine. He ought to 
be a king among men to win Sarah, for she is an 
uncommon girl.” 

“I am poor at description,” Lottie answers 
gayly, “ but if you desire it very much, I will try. 

“ First, he is tall, with broad shoulders — I do 
admire broad-shouldered men — and carries him- 
self proudly as though there might be a great 
many good people in the world, but only one 
Hartley Barron; and — well, I shall have to give 


Portrait of a Gentleman* 71 

an illustration, as our professor used to say at 
school. You have doubtless heard the story, 
dear, of the old Scotch nobleman whom some one 
had seated at the foot of the table at a grand 
banquet, when he should have been placed at the 
head. His host, discovering the mistake, apolo- 
gized profusely before the entire company. ‘ Na, 
na, never ye mind,’ said the old earl quietly, yet 
grandly, ‘for wherever the Macgregor sits, there 
is the head of the table/ 

“Well, I can imagine Hartley Barron saying 
those words, only changing them to suit the occa- 
sion — like this, perhaps: ‘Wherever Hartley 
Barron is, there the company is select/ ” 

“ What a very conceited fellow he must be ! ” 
said Katherine. 

“ Oh ! no, not conceited — nobody can call Hart- 
ley Barron conceited,” was Lottie’s quick reply. 
“ Ilis pride is too deep and too noble for that. 
It^is only a grand kind of confidence in himself ; 
and really, Katherine, when one sees how the best 
intellects in the land delight to do him honor, this 
confidence seems justifiable. But, to continue: 
Fie has a face that some would call handsome, 
others, interesting or intellectual, remarkable and 


72 


Her Bright Future . 


distinguished. His brow is high, broad and white 
— a veritable marble tablet, whereon is inscribed 
‘ Intellect/ His nose is large and finely propor- 
tioned, while the nostrils are delicately chiseled, 
and vibrate slightly, when he is excited, like those 
of a spirited horse. His mouth is large and firm- 
looking, yet sensitive. His smile is rare, but 
sweet and winning, though half-hidden by his 
heavy mustache. By the way, I don’t admire 
them generally ; do you ? ” 

“Don’t admire what?” 

“ Mustaches ! ” 

“ I don’t know. Go on, please.” 

“Well,” continues Lottie, “his head is mag- 
nificent — actually statuesque, and, Kathie, lie 
don’t part his hair in the middle. His eyes — oh, 
I can’t describe them, for their expression is 
always changing. Once or twice I have seen 
them looking so stern that they actually made me 
shiver. Generally their expression is very pleas- 
ant. Sometimes, when smiling, they look merry 
and roguish. When listening to music, they 
grow soft, sad, and sweet as a woman’s eyes.” 

“Humph!” said ner companion, “a poor com- 
parison ! say a deer’s eyes.” 


Portrait of a Gentleman, 73 

“Well, yon will see him to-morrow for your- 
self. He comes here every Sabbath evening, to 
sing sacred music with Sarah.” 

“Lottie,” said Katherine, “you have missed 
your vocation ; your descriptive powers are won- 
derful. You have painted Mr. Barron in glowing 
colors, almost as bright as the author of ‘Rinaldo, 
the Red Avenger,’ might have used in picturing 
his hero.” 

“ Oh ! of course,” said Lottie, not liking the 
sarcasm in Katherine’s voice, “ I understand he 
is by no means equal to the polished, quiet, mod- 
est gentlemen who live in Chicago ; but, you see, 
he is only a poor, benighted New York law- 
yer. Uncle Edward, who has traveled a great deal, 
says he can always tell a Chicago man the mo- 
ment he enters the car, by his loud, bragging 
way. They always talk about getting 4 corners ’ 
on grain, whatever that may mean. Shockingly 
vulgar people, I should judge.” 

“ Yes, I don’t doubt it,” said Kathie, quietly. 
“ I don’t know much about the place ; I only 
passed through Chicago on my way here.” 


4 


74 


Her Bright Future. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

HER HERO. 

"Bat, O ray first ! 0 my best ! 

How could I choose but love thee ?" 

Sunday evening Mr. Barron called. Katherine 
was in her own room. She had not finished her 
toilet, and did not come down until he had been 
there some time. He was singing a duet with Sarah 
as Katherine entered the room, and she had a good 
opportunity to observe him before being intro- 
duced. He was standing in a position that 
showed his fine profile to advantage. 

“He is certainly a very noble-looking young 
man,” she said to herself, and then forgot every 
thing but the music. 

His voice was deep, strong and tender ; and he 
sang with such earnestness aud feeling that tears 
were in her eyes when the duet closed. Mrs. 
Fielding, with pride in her manner, brought Mr. 
Barron to Katherine’s side, saying: “My niece, 
Miss Seymour, Mr. Barron.” 


Her Hero . 


75 


He bowed low, then, glancing at her, saw her 
eyes were filled with tears. Had she been a prac- 
ticed coquette, instead of an artless, honest girl, 
she could have taken no surer method of attract- 
ing his attention. 

Genuine sensibility is always bewitching in a 
woman ; and so sincere a tribute to the power of 
his singing, as tears in those beautiful eyes, was 
certainly flattering to Hartley Barron. 

“ I see you love music,” he said quietly ; then 
spoke to her about the great singers he had heard. 
This, and kindred subjects, led him to talk about 
his travels. His descriptions of mountain scenery 
were so vivid, yet so full of reverent love for the 
beautiful in nature, that Katherine, listening, for- 
got herself, and was leaning slightly forward, her 
large earnest eyes fixed upon the speaker, her 
lips slightly parted, her enthusiastic soul shining 
through her eyes, when Mrs. Fielding came and 
asked Mr. Barron to sing again. 

Katherine drew a long, sighing breath, on be- 
ing called from those purple mountain heights, 
where she had been led by a soul as ardent and 
sincere as her own. 

Barron declined singing any more that evening ; 


76 Her Bright Future, 

and as their conversation was interrupted, soon 
left. He invited the young ladies to attend the 
opera next evening. 

44 Well, now, don’t you think Mr. Barron quite 
distinguS ? ” was Lottie’s first remark, after the de- 
parture of their guest. 

Katherine, who was brushing her long, brown 
hair, answered, that after listening to his singing 
a short time, she thought no more about his face ; 
and after he conversed, if he had been as 
small and insignificant as Ulysses of old, she 
would not have noticed it, for, like the elo- 
quent ancient, when he spoke he was so learned, 
so wise, one forgot every thing save the mind that 
could originate such thought. 

44 Nonsense ! Leave all that classical rubbish 
to Uncle Edward. He likes it, and I don’t ; so 
don’t evade the question, please.” 

“ What question, pray ?” 

44 O, you provoking girl 1 you know what ques- 
tion. Don’t you think he is very fine looking ? ” 
“ Do you think he is fine looking, Lottie ?” 

44 Of course I do ; but will you please answer 
my question ? Yes, or No ?” 

44 1 never did like handsome men.” 


Her Hero . 


77 


“ Do you think he is fine looking ?” 

“ I don’t know what you mean by ‘ fine look- 
ing,’ dear.” 

Lottie, half offended at Katherine’s mischiev- 
ous evasion, rose to go. Katherine, thinking she 
had teased her cousin enough for once, ceased 
brushing her hair and gave a straightforward 
answer to the question. 

“Well, then, I will tell you. I think bis face 
is more beautiful than I ever dreamed a man’s 
could be ; it is strong, manly beauty, too. Of 
course we have all seen thousands of those silly, 
red-cheeked dandies, called handsome. We have 
also seen thousands of the opposite class ; heavily 
bearded, with bold black eyes. But never, before, 
have I seen a man whom -I could honestly say 
possessed real beauty — such as God gave him 
when He created man in His own image. 

“ I have read of such men, and have thought a 
great poet’s face must look something as Mr. Bar- 
ron’s did to-night, while talking to me — majestic ! 
To-night I have seen one who might inspire trust. 
I would place hopes, fortune or life in his care 
and calmly say : 4 1 know that all will be well 
with me, for 1 am in your hands.’ 


7 « 


Her Bright Future . 


“There are no lines of dissipation upon that 
face. He would not look nearly twenty-nine, 
were it not for his eyes. There is a half tired, 
half sad look in them, which makes his face, 
otherwise young and fresh, seem very earnest and 
grave.’’ 

“ Why Katherine, you are eloquent ! Sarah 
must be careful, or you will be stealing her 
friend’s affections from her — that is if she ever 
possessed them — which is very doubtful. I 
do not think that Hartley Barron cares very much 
for any thing except his work. He seems to care 
for nothing but his ambition, and seeks ladies’ so- 
ciety very little. Sarah is such a demure, old- 
maidish thing, that he likes to talk art with her, 
and discuss deep, horrid old philosophical works. 
His affection for her is brotherly, and mother is 
foolish enough to think it love. Probably ‘ the 
wish is father to the thought.’ But, nonsense ! 
Hartley Barron will not think of marrying till he 
has satisfied restless ambition, become President, 
or something nearly as great. He would not 
waste the time to woo a lady properly.” 

“ W ell, my dear,’* said Katherine gayly,“no doubt 
Mr. Barron would feel highly flattered if he knew 


Her Hero . 


79 


the interest with which we are discussing his af- 
fairs. It is nearly one o’clock, and we had better 
retire. We shall have little enough sleep; and 
to-morrow evening, you know, this wonderful Mr. 
Barron escorts us to the opera*” 


Her Bright Future* 


So 


CHAPTER IX, 

AT i'HE OPERA. 

“ Too, you are as young 

As Eve, with Nature’s day-break on her face." 

The next evening when Mr. Barron came, he 
found only Katherine in the parlor. Mrs. Field- 
ing had Sarah up stairs, drilling her in deportment. 
Just now she was walking under her mother’s crit- 
ical eye — with shoulders erect, and head thrown 
slightly back. She had previously made the poor 
girl arrange her hair in three different styles, and 
then volunteered this soothing remark : 

44 You always manage to do up your hair unbe- 
comingly. w 

Lottie was usually five minutes late, even if 
she had the entire afternoon for dressing. Thus 
it happened that Katherine was alone when Mr. 
Barron arrived. She did not see him at first, she 
sat at the piano, singing softly to herself an old 
song. He stood looking at her for several min- 
utes, before she was aware of his presence. 


At the Opera . 


81 


She made a beautiful and striking picture. Her 
dark eyes were dewy -bright with pleased expect- 
ancy. Her cheeks as softly flushed as a sea shell. 
This was a wonderful evening — her first opera. 

Her fair neck and arms were modestly re- 
vealed by the loose sleeves, and Marie Antoinette 
corsage, of her delicate blue dress. A slight half- 
wreath of white heath-flowers, rested lightly upon 
her smooth dark braids. 

Hartley Barron thought she made the fairest 
picture he had seen for many a day ; and the ad- 
miration had not faded from his eyes, when she 
came forward to meet him. He was a man little 
given to compliments, and therefore only asked af- 
ter her health, gravely. He remarked that her 
last song was a favorite of his, and requested her 
to finish it. The ladies just then entered, how- 
ever, and as it was already time for the opera, 
they left. 

It was a memorable evening. The prima 
donna was singing one of her most pathetic 
parts as they entered. Katherine turned pale, 
dazzled by the lights and the brilliant as- 
sembly. She soon became composed, and listened 
to the music with tears in her eyes — tears of 
4* F 


82 


Her Bright Future . 


enthusiasm and happiness. When the song was 
finished and the heroine had fainted gracefully, 
and had been carried off the stage by two clum- 
sy attendants, Katherine drew a long breath. 
Turning, she saw Mr. Barron’s eyes upon her. He 
had been watching her instead of the opera. 

“ Well,” he said smilingly, “are you very much 
disappointed ?” 

“Oh! no !” was the prompt response. “What 
a grand thing it is be to be a great singer or 
actress. I love dramatic poetry, and I have so 
often wished I could be an actress, — that is I 
mean I wish I had the genius to become a great 
actress.” 

“ Heaven forbid ! ” he said earnestly. 

She was a little frightened at this, and thought 
she must have said something foolish or wrong ; sc 
she continued, apologetically : 

“ Oh, I presume I have rose-colored views of 
such things — far too much so, perhaps, being only 
a country girl. But surely you will admit that to 
be able to express, with true eloquence, the 
thoughts and emotions which great poets have 
given us, is a noble art.” 

“ I agree with you,” he answered, “ in calling 


At the Opera . 


83 


it a noble art ; and will even admit that about one 
actor in a thousand appreciates and has a genuine 
love for his art ; but believe me, Miss Seymour, 
you are best as you are.” 

Their party now received an addition in the 
the shape of Mr. Harry Featherstone. This young 
gentleman was a delightful contrast to Mr. Bar- 
ron, in character and appearance. He was blonde, 
blue-eyed and rather handsome, though boyish 
in looks. He was good-humored and gentleman- 
ly ; never at a loss for small talk — seldom, in- 
deed, ever turning into any other kind. In a 
word, he was a “New Yorker” of the day. 
He was wealthy, consequently, much sought 
after by the prudent mammas of marriageable 
daughters. There was a strata of good sense and 
feeling hidden beneath his slightly Dundrearyish 
manner, which flattery had not entirely des- 
troyed. He had noticed Katherine’s fair and 
star-like beauty, and came to ascertain the 
stranger’s name. 

He was welcomed cordially by Lottie, who 
made room for him at her side. Sarah presented 
him to Katherine, with whom he chatted entertain- 
ingly. He could be very agreeable when he chose. 


Her Bright Future. 

and there was a freshness about Katherine that 
interested him. He told her several little anec- 
dotes about great singers, and described a cruise 
he had taken in his yacht, the previous Summer, 
followed by the graphic description of a new 
play, not yet out, but “ sure to be the sensation” 
when it came. Mr. Featherstone seemed ex- 
ceedingly well informed about plays and play 
writers. During this running fire of small talk, 
he managed adroitly to compliment Katherine. 

All this was very different from Barron’s 
grand descriptions of scenery, places and people. 
It was as the waterfall among the Berkshire hills, 
to the great Niagara ; but it was new to Kather- 
ine, and Featherstone’s animated manner made 
his conversation seem far more brilliant than it 
really was. She soon found herself smiling at 
his remarks, and talking as freely with him as 
if they had been old friends. 

Meantime, Barron seemed to be deeply en- 
gaged in explaining Huxley’s last theory to Sarah 
Fielding, but in reality, was watching Katherine’s 
every look and word. 

. Presently, the curtain fell on the last scene, 
and they arose to go. Featherstone seized Kath- 


At the Opera. 


85 


erine’s opera cloak, and wrapped it around hex 
with an air of tenderness, while Mr. BaiTon 
seemed completely absorbed in the conversation 
he was carrying on with Sarah. Apparently he 
did not look toward them. Harry accompanied 
them to the carriage, and bade them good-night, 
after remarking that he should give himself the 
pleasure of calling soon. 

The ride home was a very quiet one. Barron 
was silent and thoughtful, and did not once 
address himself to Katherine. He had been very 
agreeable before, and talked with her so kindly, 
that she was puzzled and somewhat saddened at 
the change. 

Lottie remarked that Harry Featherstone had 
seemed to exert himself that evening to please 
Katherine. “ He is generally too lazy to make 
himself agreeable,” she continued; “neverthe- 
less, I think he is really good-hearted. Why, at 
Mi's. Dyrencourt’s ball last week, he danced three 
times with that little Mary Ross. She is always 
a wall-flower, and dances horribly, while he is a 
splendid dancer, and all the girls were dying to 
have him ask them; but he danced with Mary 
just because he felt sorry for her. Well, it mad* 


86 


Her Bright Future . 


her quite the fashion for the evening, and you 
ought to have seen how it changed her. She 
really rivaled Grace Leigh, she received so much 
attention. Now, 1 call that quite noble in 
Harry.” 

“Heroic, Miss Lottie; quite a modern Sir 
Launcelot,” said Barron. 

“ Why, I thought you and Harry were great 
friends, Mr. Barron.” 

“So we are, as friendships go. Featherstone 
is a shallow fellow — good-hearted enough, I dare 
say f though with no depth of thought or feeling. 
It is so with all these young dandies who have 
fortunes left them, they are flattered so much ; 
and women are most to blame for spoiling them, I 
think. If Featherstone had some good motive for 
working, he might make quite a man some day.” 

“Might make quite a man some day?” echoed 
Lottie. “ Why, Mr. Barron ! I think you are 
unjust to Harry Featherstone ! ” 

The truth was, Barron had taken this dislike 
to young Featherstone that very evening; had 
disliked him ever since his attention to Katherine, 
though he never admitted to himself that jealousy 
was the cause of this sudden dislike. 


At the Opera, 


87 


He said to himself that she was young and 
innocent, and he did not like to see so pure and 
modest a nature tarnished and desecrated by the 
stale compliments that these city beaux were 
always showering upon young girls. He felt 
much better now that he had relieved his mind 
in a quiet way, and was in better spirits when 
they arrived at Judge Fielding’s. 

As it was late, he refused to go into the house. 
Mrs. Fielding met the girls in the hall, and en- 
quired of Sarah, in a stage whisper, what had 
transpired during the evening — if Mr. Barron 
had been attentive to her? 

“Sarah,” she whispered, “what did he say? 
I told Lottie to talk to Katherine, and give him 
an opportunity to tell you his intentions. The 
opera is just the place for a man to say something 
leading to a declaration. I don’t suppose any one 
like Hartley Barron would speak out very plainly 
in so public a place ; but the music, and the feel- 
ing that he has the girl he loves under his 
protection for the time, are quite apt to lead a 
man to say things not easily taken back next 
day — that is, if he is honorable. He loves you, 
Sarah. I have watched his looks, and I know T 


88 Her Bright Future, 

am right. What did he say ? Can’t you confide 
in your own mother ? ” 

“Oh, mother,” answered Sarah, wearily, “if 
you are really anxious to know all that Mr. 
Barron said since leaving the house, ask Kath- 
erine. He said quite as much to her as to me.” 

A few evenings later, Barron called, and, as 
he arose to leave, told the ladies that important 
business would render it necessary for him to be 
absent from the city about a week. 

“ I don’t like to go,” he said, “ and one reason 
for my reluctance is that I have some valuable 
papers which I can not well take with me. I am 
at a loss where to stow them for safe -keeping. 
They are invaluable to one of my clients, as they 
throw light upon a case I have had in hand four 
years ; and which, I hope, is now approaching a 
successful close. I usually keep them in the safe 
at my office, where I sleep. There has been so 
many successful bank-robberies lately, that I am 
losing confidence in bank safes.” 

“ Why, Barron, bring your papers here 
said the judge, “they will be as safe here as 
anywhere — safer, I think. I’d like to see a 
burglar get into my vault, to say nothing of the 


At the Opera . 


89 


safe, which is really a good one ; safes alone are 
not much protection against our New York 
experts. 

“ Thanks for your kind offer,” was the reply. 
* 4 1 will bring the papers to-morrow.” 

The judge then took him to the library, and 
showed him the vault. It was a small space left 
in the brick wall, surrounded by solid masonry. 
In it was the safe, containing Mrs. Fielding’s 
jewels, some family plate, and the judge’s valu- 
able papers. The door opening into the vault 
was of iron, very strong, and closing with a spring 
lock. In front of this door, and entirely conceal- 
ing it, was a large and well-filled book-case, which 
the judge now moved aside in order to show 
the secure hiding place. 

“ No one knows the existence of this vault 
save myself and family,” said he. “ I have never 
allowed the servants to meddle with the library 
furniture. But I was really very much annoyed 
the other day by Mrs. Fielding’s carelessness. 
We have needed a new carpet in this room for 
some time ; and a few 'a.v * ago, while I was at 
my office, she sent for a man to come and 
measure the room for it. I came home and found 


90 Her Bright Future. 

him here, — a rascally looking fellow, I thought ; 
I politely ordered him to leave the house, telling 
Mrs. Fielding I would finish that job myself. 
I don’t suppose he noticed the vault door ; but 
if he did, the secresy of the affair would lead him 
to suspect what it was placed there for. It was 
very careless in Mrs. Fielding, very,” grumbled 
the judge. 

The following day Barron brought the papers, 
and a few other things which he treasured ; and 
placing them in the vault, bade them good-bye 
for a week. 

Shortly after his departure, Hugh Fielding 
came home from college, for the holidays. He 
was a genial, frank young fellow — fine looking, 
and as good as he was handsome. 

His mother, looking at him proudly, pronounced 
upon him a verdict of “ perfection,” in her own 
opinion, at least, and remarked with calm dignity, 
that Hugh was a thorough Seymour. 

But flattery did not seem dangerous to this 
youth, whose impulsive heart was as true and 
brave as ever beat. 

He had none of the nondescript, silly ways 
that cling to most college students, making them 


At the Opera . 


9 1 


so much alike, and reducing them from the 
dignity of individual characters to mere units of 
a class — that neither a very brilliant or agree- 
able one. 

Hugh was delighted with his western cousin ; 
he took great pains to please and entertain her. 
He was fond of music, and one evening invited 
Katherine and his sisters to hear a famous violinist. 
Sarah and Lottie happened to be engaged, having 
accepted invitations to a grand reception at the 
house of a lady who stood high in the ranks of 
fashion and wealth. 

“ You must go alone, Hugh,” said Lottie. “ I 
would not miss Mrs. Leigh’s reception for all the 
famous violinists in the world.” 

“ I shall not go, then, for I should not enjoy it 
much alone,” he said. 

“I will go with you, Hugh,” said Kathe- 
rine. 

“ But,” urged Lottie, “ you are going to the 
reception with us.” 

“ Well, you can give them some excuse ; I 
shall never be missed,” was the answer. 

“The music will well repay your giving up 
one of those tiresome, crowded affairs,” said 


92 Her Bright Future . 

Hugh, pleased at the prospect of having Kathe- 
rine’s company. 

It was a delightful affair to a lover of music ; 
and, although the evening had seemed short, they 
found the house dark and the servants gone to 
bed when they returned. Judge Fielding and the 
other members of the family were yet absent. 

Hugh unlocked the door with his night-key, 
telling Katherine she had better retire imme- 
diately as it was late ; he said good-night and 
went to his room to study an hour before retiring. 

Katherine started to go to her room, but, as she 
passed the door of the library saw it was ajar, 
and a gleam of light crossed the floor at her 
feet. Supposing there must be a bright fire in the 
grate, she stepped into the room, intending to sit 
and dream a while by the fire-light, and enjoy the 
luxury of being alone. Much to her surprise and 
disappointment, the fire was out — only a mass of 
black coals. 

She stood for a moment, wondering whence 
had come the gleam of light in the hall. The 
moonlight streamed into the room through one 
window ; the other blind being drawn, left a porv 
tion of the apartment in deep shadow. 


93 


At the Opera. 

“ It must have been the moonlight,” she said 
softly to herself ; and, as the room was chilly, 
started to retire, when the faint line of light 
seemed to shine out from the hitherto dark corner. 

Her eyes being now more accustomed to the 
darkness, she noticed that the book-case had been 
moved from its place, and that the vault door was 
partly open. The real state of the case flashed 
upon her at once. There was a burglar in the 
vault, and the ray of light came from his lantern. 

He had heard her enter and was lurking there, 
doubtless, hoping she would not notice him. One 
little ray of light betrayed him. 

For a moment the frightened girl’s heart 
seemed to cease beating, and then gave a great 
throb of pity for the poor wretch who was hidden 
in the vault, trembling, no doubt, far more than 
even herself ; but next came the thought of duty 
toward those who would suffer from his villainy. 

“ I must not let him carry off uncle’s papers,” 
she thought; and then the thought of Barron’s 
came to her mind, with his remark concerning 
their value to him. She remembered his pale, 
tired face, and pictured the look of bitter disap- 
pointment when he should find that, in one short 


94 


Her Bright Future. 


night, he had been robbed of his four years 
research. She resolved to let justice triumph, 
instead of pity or fear. 

She stood quietly, while these thoughts were 
coursing through her mind. Now, in pursuance 
of a plan, she 3^awned as though sleepy, and 
coughing slightly, walked to the book-case, think- 
ing what course it was best to take. 

She might walk quietly out of the room, pre- 
tending she had not noticed any thing, then run 
up stairs and tell Hugh; but while she was 
absent the man might secure" his prize and 
escape. Then, too, if he should injure or remove 
the papers, there would be an irreparable loss to 
Barron, besides the money and valuables of those 
who had treated her so kindly. No, the risk was 
too great. The man would doubtless be alarmed, 
and make his escape as soon as she left the room. 
Suddenly it occurred to her that the door of the 
vault, if closed from the outside, would lock 
itself. She took a book from the case, and walked 
to the window, as if to examine it by the moon- 
light. The door of the vault was about four 
steps from this window. How could she ever 
take those steps without letting the robber know 


At the Opera. 


95 


her intentions? It was a desperate thing to do, 
but her nerves were wrought to the highest ten- 
sion. She gathered up her dress closely, that its 
rustling might not betray her. Two long, gliding 
steps over the carpet — she was at the half-opened 
vault door. Then, with one quick bound, she 
threw herself against it, closing it with a slam that 
shook the book-case violently, and echoed through 
the house. He was safely caged. Then, there 
came the reaction. Half falling upon a sofa, she 
lay, trembling, weak and exhausted. The noise 
brought Hugh bounding down stairs. He rushed 
into the library, and, seeing her lie so white 
and still, supposed she had been taken suddenly 
ill, though this did not account for the noise he 
had heard. Seeing that she lay very quietly and 
did not speak, he bent anxiously over her, his 
handsome face almost as pale as her own. 

“ What was it, darling ? tell me ! ” he mur- 
mured tenderly. She did not speak or stir. He 
rang the bell violently, and, taking her small, 
white hands in his own, tried to warm them. 

In that brief space of time, he found that he 
loved her madly. 

She opened her eyes at last, and seemed, even 


9 6 


Her Bright Future. 


at this moment, to guess his feelings. Slowly she 
arose, and, pointing toward the vault, said : 

“ Oh, Hugh, there is a man in the vault.” 

“ A man in the vault ? ” he echoed ; “ why, 
child, you are dreaming. No one could have got 
into the vault, for father locked the door and took 
the key with him this evening. How could a 
man get in there ? ” 

“ Hugh, I tell you there is a man in there — a 
burglar. I saw him and shut the door; he is 
locked in. Oh! if he should be smothered, his 
death would lie at my door.” 

He saw she was in earnest now, and his puz- 
zled look gave way to one of admiration for her 
courage. 

Taking her in his strong arms as easily as if 
she were a child, he carried her up stairs, far 
away from any thing that could remind her of 
her adventure. As the ringing of the bell 
had aroused the servants, he left her under the 
care of the bewildered and frightened cham- 
ber-maid, merely saying that Miss Katherine had 
been taken suddenly ill. Going to his room, 
he took a brace of pistols from their case, and 
prepared to go down to encounter the daring 


At the Opera. 


97 


man who caused all this commotion. Katherine 
heard him leave his room, and, coming out, met 
him in the hall. 

“ Hugh,” she said breathlessly, “ please send 
for a policeman. I am sure that man will smoth- 
er, if you don’t let him out soon.” 

“I don’t need a policeman. I will attend to 
his lordship myself,” he answered gayly. “When 
a little girl like you can corner a New York burg- 
lar, doubtless a desperate one too, I deem myself 
able to take care of him after he is safely trapped. 
Go back to your room, my cousin, and leave the 
rest tome!” 

At this moment the sound of carriage-wheels 
was heard, and a moment later there was a bustle 
in the hall. The rest of the family had returned 
home, and, meeting Hugh at the head of the 
stairs, an explanation took place. Hugh was in 
favor of letting the man out immediately, and 
then marching him off to a police station ; but 
Mrs. Fielding, who was much frightened, would 
not listen to the proposal for a moment. 

“ You will surely be hurt if you attempt such 
a thing,’* she said, “ for, no doubt, he is desperate, 
and as well armed as yourself.” 
f G 


9 8 Her Bright Future . 

A policeman soon appeared, and Judge Field- 
ing and Hugh went with him to the vault. “ He 
must have had a duplicate key to get into this 
vault,” said the Judge. “ I presume that rascal- 
ly-looking fellow who was measuring the room for 
a carpet, was an accomplice.” 

They opened the heavily-swinging door, and 
found a stout man, with a bushy, black beard, 
crouching in the corner, nearly smothered, and 
very glad to get out. 

“ You are a brave girl, Katherine,” said the 
J udge earnestly ; “ and we all feel very grateful 
to you.” 

“Brave?” cried Hugh; “why, father, I call 
it heroic; and I only hope she will not be seri- 
ously ill from the terrible shock her nervous 
system has received.” 

The next day Katherine felt weak and tired, 
so they made her stay in her room, while the girls 
petted and praised her. Hugh brought, as his 
offering, a bouquet of the rarest and loveliest 
flowers. Her uncle presented her with a set of 
cameos. 

Upon examining the safe, they found that 
several holes had been drilled in it. 


At the Opera. 


99 


“ In ten minutes more, he would have secured 
what he was after; and I would not have had 
Barron’s papers destroyed or injured for ten 
thousand dollars, to say nothing of my own prop- 
erty,” said the Judge. 

Katherine thought of Barron’s tired face, and 
his four years of labor, the result of which she 
had saved for him, and thanked God in her heart 
that He had given her courage and strength to do 
her duty. 


IOO 


Her Bright Future* 


CHAPTER X. 

▲ MANAGING- MOTHER. 

“And my love lieth deep — 

Too deep for swift telling.” 

A few days after the attempted burglary, 
Barron returned to New York, and called at 
Judge Fielding’s. Hugh told him of Kathe- 
rine’s heroism, and showed a pardonable pride 
in his cousin. The caller listened to the glow- 
ing description quietly, then thanked her in a 
few formal words for the service she had ren- 
dered him. She was disappointed and hurt at 
the cool dignity of his manner. Woman-like, she 
tried to hide it. She listened to Hugh’s conver- 
sation with so much apparent interest, that he 
was delighted. However, when Mr. Barron 
asked her to sing, she wished to be excused. 

After Barron left, Hugh burst forth indig- 
nantly about his seeming ingratitude and lack 
of appreciation. 

“ I presume Mr. Barron is an admirer of deli- 


A Managing Mother . ioi 

cacy and timidity in women,” said Mrs. Fielding, 
looking at Sarah, who was bending industriously 
over her embroidery. 

“All sensible men admire delicacy in a 
woman,” answered Hugh ; “ but timidity is quite 
another thing. I can not see why a brave act in 
a woman is not worthy of more praise than in a 
man. Barron must be deucedly stupid, if he can 
not see and admire the wonderful courage it 
required to slam the vault door on that fellow.” 

“ And faint afterward,” said Katherine, gayly. 

“ That was the finest thing about it, according 
to mother’s theory — being an evidence of your 
womanly weakness and delicacy. I suppose if 
you had fainted at the sight of a mouse running 
through the room, you would have shown your- 
self still more worthy of admiration.” 

“Hugh,” said Mrs. Fielding, “Katherine 
needs not your championship, for we all appre- 
ciate the — the presence of mind she showed on 
such a trying occasion. I am sure you have no 
reason to complain of Mr. Barron’s manner toward 
her. He thanked her, and what more could you 
ask? He is not an enthusiastic man.” 

“ Oh, it was nothing,” said Katherine, trying 


102 Her Bright Future . 

to turn the conversation. “ It was only what any 
one of you would have done, had you been in my 
place.” 

“ Certainly,” said Mrs. Fielding. “ You must 
not let Hugh spoil you with his flattery, my 
dear.” 

That remark about womanly delicacy troubled 
Katherine far more than she would admit. “ I 
wonder if he does think me strong-nerved and 
masculine, because I acted as I did ? ” she said to 
herself a hundred times. “ Oh, if he only knew 
how frightened I was, and that it was the thought 
of him, after all, which gave me courage, he 
surely would not think me unwomanly.” And so 
she let this thought rankle in her bosom until it 
destroyed all pleasure. 

One day Mr. Barron called. Mrs. Fielding 
and her daughters were shopping, so Katherine 
received him alone. After talking with her a few 
minutes very pleasantly, he took a small package 
from his pocket. Coming to her side, he said : 

“ You have thought me ungrateful. Now con- 
fess that you have.” 

She made no answer. He continued : 

“ I want to explain my strange conduct. The 


A Managing Mother . 103 

trnth is, that evening when they were telling me 
of yonr brave action, I was so completely ab- 
sorbed in admiration, that I could not think of 
words to express my feelings. 

“It was stupid in me, I know; but when the 
heart is full, the lips are often silent. When any 
strong emotion sweeps over my soul, it deprives 
me of the power of speech. Now, that I can 
think and talk calmly about the matter, I want to 
thank you for the great service you did me ; and 
I beg you to accept this slight token of my grati- 
tude. This ring was my mother’s. She was a 
noble woman, one who would have appreciated 
you, were she living to day.” 

The ring was a slender circle of gold, with a 
medium-sized, beautiful diamond, in a quaint, old- 
fashioned setting. It was very odd, and drew 
from Katherine an exclamation of admiration, as 
she held it before her. 

“Oh, Mr. Barron!” she cried, “I can not 
accept so precious a gift for simply doing my 
duty.” 

The offering lifted a burden off her heart. 
Now, she was sure he did not think her un- 
womanly. 


104 


Her Bright Future. 


He appeared not to notice her last remark 
Bending over her, he gently placed the ring upon 
the first finger of the left hand. 

There was a flush on his dark face — a light in 
his brown eyes, that betrayed a deeper feeling 
than gratitude. She did not notice it. She had 
placed him so high in her imagination — so far 
above herself, that she failed to see what a girl 
with more experience and less humility would 
have known at once. 

She was so proud of his praise, so happy to 
know that he did not think her courage the result 
of a masculine nature ! But there came a sudden 
cloud over her bright face, at the thought of her 
aunt’s probable displeasure. She foresaw trouble 
should she accept the ring. 

Barron had been watching her expressive* 
face, and saw the shadows that gathered so 
suddenly. 

She drew the ring slowly from her finger, and 
told him sadly that, while she thanked him for his 
kindness, and would have valued the ring very 
highly for the sake of the one who had worn it, 
still, she could not accept it. 

“ Why not?” he asked, looking at her keenly. 


A Managing Mother. 105 

“ I can not tell,” she answered confusedly 
and trembling; “but, really, I must not accept 
it.” 

“ Tell me, Katherine,” he said, forgetting in 
his earnestness all formality. “ Is there any one 
whom you love, to whom you would think your- 
self disloyal if you accepted my gift ? ” 

“No, no; it is not that!” she answered 
eagerly. 

“ Then you will wear it as a token of my 
gratitude, will you not?” he said pleadingly. 

He saw her confusion, and thinking she had 
noticed his lover-like manner toward her, but did 
not wish to abandon herself wholly to this new 
feeling, he sought to calm her by offering the gift 
as an expression of gratitude only. 

“Oh, yes! I know you only meant it as a 
token of friendship,” she said. 

“ Well, then, please wear it.” 

He placed it upon her finger. 

Just then Mrs. Fielding came into the room. 
Seeing the two alone, and apparently enjoying 
each other’s society, her face flushed with vexa- 
tion. Barron left soon after, and Mrs. Fielding 
caught sight of the ring Katherine wore. 

5* 


106 Her Bright Future. 

“Where did you get that beautiful ring? ” she 
inquired, her voice trembling slightly. 

Katherine answered that Mr. Barron had given 
it to her, as expressive of his gratitude for her 
service in saving his valuable papers. 

“ Why, Katherine ! ” said Mrs. Fielding, an- 
grily ; “ one would think you were the only 
woman who had ever done her duty, to hear 
the fuss they make over you. I am surprised 
at you, Katherine Seymour! You did wrong in 
accepting such a present from Mr. Barron.” 

“I told him I did not wish to accept it,” 
replied Katherine, meekly. 

“Well, all you need do, then, is to send it 
back. He will respect you far more for doing so.” 

“Do you really think so, aunt?” 

“ Of course ; but, tell me, child, what was he 
saying to you when I came in ? ” 

“Nothing very much.” 

“ Nonsense ! He was talking earnestly. He 
was not making love to you, I hope ? ” 

“ Oh, no, indeed.” 

“I am glad to hear it. I should regret to 
think Hartley Barron so lacking in principle as tc 
make love to Sarah’s cousin.” 


A Managing Mother . 107 

“ Why, aunt ! is he engaged to Sarah ? ” 

“ Just about the same as engaged. He goes 
everywhere with her, and comes here almost 
daily. Any one with eyes would see that he 
loves her. I presume he gave you the ring partly 
because you are her cousin, and in our family. I 
notice he is very kind to you and Lottie lately. 
You had better send him a polite note immedi- 
ately, saying you can not accept so valuable a 
gift for a mere act of involuntary bravery. Now, 
go* my dear ! You will have time before dinuer. ,, 

Katherine went to her room, and wrote the 
following note : 

Mr. Barron: 

I write this to say I can not accept the ring yon kindly 
gave me this afternoon, as a token of your friendship and 
gratitude. I thank you for your kind appreciation, just the 
same as if I could keep it, and hope you will excuse me in 
not returning it when you were here, instead of sending it 
now. 

Hoping you will believe that I fully appreciate the rare 
gift, although I can not accept it, I remain 

Most Respectfully and Sincerely, 

Katherine Seymour. 

After looking longingly at the ring, and sigh- 
ing at her aunt’s hard sentence, she folded 


108 Her Bright Future . 

and addressed the note, and sent both to Mr. 
Barron. 

A few hours later he received the ring. He 
read the note over carefully, coloring with offend- 
ed pride. Then he grew curious ; there seemed 
something so singular in the manner in which she 
had acted. 

“ Can it be possible,” he thought, “ that she 
loves somebody else, toward whom she fears 
being disloyal in any way ? No ! It can not be ! 
She told me there was no one. Why does she act 
so? Perhaps she dislikes me. I must have 
seemed cold and ungrateful that evening ; but my 
heart was too full of admiration, and — yes, love 
for her — to allow me to speak.” And then the 
strong man tortured himself for a time, by con- 
jecturing what the obstacle might be which 
would not permit the girl he loved with all his 
soul, to accept his present, offered in friendship. 

His anxiety only increased his love. He de- 
termined to seek an interview, and tell her all. 
Then, he would ask why she could not wear his 
ring. The real cause for sending it back never 
occurred to him. Although a spirited man, he 
was free from petty vanity regarding women. 


A Managing Mother . 109 

Wrapped in this mantle of unconsciousness, he 
had passed through life without noticing that 
match-making mothers smiled approvingly upon 
him. 

He had never loved before. There was an 
innocent freshness about Katherine that interest- 
ed him at first ; and, as he watched her, and saw 
the beauty of her character, this interest had 
ripened into love, intense and irresistible. 


1IO 


Her Bright Future* 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE STOLEN LETTER. 

• The little rift within the lover’s lute.” 

Barron had fully determined to tell Katherine 
his love, and was tormented by the fear that she 
was not free. 

“ If she is free,” he thought, “ I must and will 
win her. Surely, love like mine can not be in 
vain.” 

Katherine now found her position at Judge 
Fielding’s uncomfortable. She was treated with 
marked coolness by her aunt. Hugh, who had 
heard of the ring, grew moody, acting quite un- 
like his old, cheery self. He had not alluded to 
his love for her since the attempted burglary, and 
she anxiously avoided all mention of the half-con- 
fession he had made that night. 

She deeply regretted the circumstance, and 
would have forgotten it gladly had not his trans- 
parent jealousy given proof that he remembered it 
too well. 


The Stolen Letter . 


hi 


At last he found an opportunity to speak. 44 1 
have loved you, Katherine, since I first saw you, 
I think ; if you can not return my love, I shall 
keep on loving you just the same. I can not 
help it.” 

She was deeply pained at the turn affairs had 
taken. She loved her cousin in a sisterly way. 
She kindly, but firmly, told him her feelings. She 
hoped she should always have a deep affection for 
him as a cousin, but she could not return the love 
he wished. 

His pleasant face grew dark as he listened. 44 1 
see how it is, — you love this Mr. Barron,” he said. 

44 Hugh, you talk wildly. Mr. Barron does not 
want me to love him. He only gave me that ring 
because I saved those papers ; and I have sent it 
back. So you see how mistaken you are.” 

44 He loves you, Katherine, I know. He will 
tell you so some day. Mark my words ! and when 
he does, you will not answer him as you have 
answered me.” 

She thought nothing of his words ; she attrib- 
uted them to jealousy. Besides, had not aunt 
told her that Sarah and Barron were nearly the 
same as engaged ? When the latter called, as be 


1 1 2 Her Bright Future. 

did frequently, watching for an opportunity to 
see and speak with Katherine alone, she was care- 
ful to avoid him. She did not wish to interfere 
with lovers. Mrs. Fielding comprehended the 
true situation ; and, although she had a sincere 
interest in the welfare of her niece, determined to 
arrange for her departure from the city soon. 
“ And then,” she said to herself, “when she is out 
of the way, he will come back to Sarah. This is 
only a fancy ; and I owe my first duty to my 
child.” 

She wrote a long letter to her sister, Mrs. Dr. 
Reed, which soon resulted in a pressing invitation 
for Katherine to visit the latter, in her country 
home at Hillsdale. 

“ Lenore,” wrote Mrs. Reed, “ is just recover- 
ing from an illness which has left her nervous sys- 
tem prostrated, and she is very low-spirited. The 
doctor thinks Katherine’s company would cheer 
her wonderfully. I suppose Hugh will return to 
college, soon, the holidays being over. Katherine 
might come to Garrettville with him, and the 
doctor or myself would meet her there.” 

“Well, Kathie,” said Mrs. Fielding, as she 
read the letter to her one morning, “ what do you 


The Stolen Letter . 


ii3 

th. ik of your Aunt Emily’s invitation ? I am sure 
you would have a nice time at Hillsdale ; and you 
are looking a little pale, lately. I don’t think the 
city air agrees with you ; you will brighten up 
wonderfully when you get to Hillsdale. The 
scenery around there is beautiful in Summer, and 
Lenore is such a dear girl; you will be very 
happy.” 

Thus kindly, but decidedly, was Katherine in- 
formed that the correct thing for her to do was to 
go to Hillsdale ; and also to express an impatient 
desire to go soon. 

“ When will Hugh return to college ?” she 

asked, quietly. 

“ I think he ought to go on Monday. He has 
idled away too much time already.” Thus it was 
settled that they should go on the following Mon- 
day. It was now Thursday. 

Katherine wandered sadly around the house 
where she had spent so many happy hours. It 
was her nature to become attached to places as well 
as people. She had been very happy in New York, 
notwithstanding her aunt’s recent displeasure. 
Now that she was about to leave, .every body seemed 

kind to her. Mrs. Fielding even reproached her- 
H 


1 14 Her Bright Future. 

self a little for her previous coldness, and tried, by 
unusual cordiality, to efface unpleasant mem- 
ories. 

At last Sunday came, and Barron called in the 
evening. He had been unusually busy during the 
week, and, not calling, knew nothing of Kathe- 
rine’s near departure. The first intimation came 
from Lottie : 

“You must come and see us often now, for we 
shall be dreadfully blue and lonely. Hugh and 
Katherine are going away at the same time, you 
know.” 

“Where is Miss Seymour going?” he said, 
growing pale in spite of self-control. 

“Oh, to Hillsdale — a lonesome, dreary old 
place it is in Winter, I assure you,” was Lottie’s 
careless reply. She had not observed his sudden 
pallor. Mrs. Fielding had, and readily divined 
its cause. 

“ I have done wisely,” thought that excellent 
lady, “ in getting so dangerous a girl out of the 
way. She must be an artful creature, to get 
Hartley Barron so infatuated that he pales at 
mention of her departure.” 

Barron cursed his folly in not obtaining an 


The Stolen Letter . 


”5 


interview with Katherine. He had anxiously 
sought one soon after his ring was returned, but 
Mrs. Fielding always managed to thwart his wish, 
in her quiet, well-bred way. He did not see this, 
and blamed himself for lack of persistency. 

He had written several notes to Katherine, 
requesting an interview, but destroyed them ; 
they seemed so formal. At last, he determined to 
trust to chance for an opportunity to speak with 
her alone. Now, she was going away, without 
knowing how devotedly he loved her. The news 
of her departure completely unnerved him. It 
was slow torture to be forced to keep up an 
appearance of polite interest in Mrs. Fielding’s 
conversation. His thoughts were upon the girl 
he loved. 

“ What shall I do ? ” he thought. “ I can not 
let her leave New York, without telling her of 
my feelings. I wili write her a letter this very 
evening. The train leaves at ten. She will get 
my letter early to-morrow morning, if sent by 
a messenger, and she can write a word in 
reply. 

Having made this resolve, he felt more at ease. 
“ I shall soon know my fate,” he thought. There 


ii6 Her Bright Future* 

was a look upon Katherine’s sweet face, as her 
eyes met his that evening, which made him fancy 
it would not be a sorrowful one. 

“Do sing for us, Mr. Barron,” urged Mrs. 
Fielding ; but it required more resolution than 
Hartley cared to exert. His heart was full of 
sorrow at parting with Katherine, and he had no 
little anxiety as to what might be the answer to 
his suit. Had he been less noble, he might have 
reasoned that a dependent young lady, with only 
a pretty face and a tender heart for dowry, would 
not fail to accept his suit. He had always been 
confident in his undertakings; and, with good 
reason, for his star had been in the ascendant; 
but this, he told himself, was a very different 
affair from any other in which he had been en- 
gaged. He loved deeply, with all the passion 
and strength of manhood, and the purity and 
ideality of youth. In his oyes, Katherine was 
the flower of all womanhood; and hitherto-un- 
known feelings sprang into life, at her touch or 
glance. 

Boy-like, he longed for an opportunity to show 
his devotion, by periling life for her, if needs 

be. 


The Stolen Letter . 117 

44 She is far too lovely for me,” he thought ; 
44 yet, I am not totally unworthy of her. Could I 
win her, I should love her as wife was never loved 
before.” 

He thought if Katherine would only sing, he 
might turn the leaves of her music, and thus be 
near her. He asked her to favor them with a 
song. Mrs. Fielding gave her a warning look, 
and said something about a bad cold, and how 
much she would like a duet. But there was so 
much earnestness in Barron’s appeal, that Kath- 
erine took her seat at the piano. He stood at her 
side, waiting to turn the music. 

It was the first time he had ever paid her such 
marked attention. Hugh always arranged to rob 
him of the privilege. 

In looking over the music, for a song they 
wanted, their hands accidentally touched. It 
made Katherine tremble, and sent the blood 
bounding through her veins. For a moment she 
grew faint I Surely, it could not be the simple 
touch of her cousin’s betrothed lover! Was she 
so weak ? That her regard for Barron was differ- 
ent from any she had ever known before, was evi- 
dent. She felt as if she were in a dream. What 


1 1 8 Her Bright Future. 

strange, resistless feeling swept over her to-night, 
as Barron touched her hand. “ Do I love him ? 
Do I love him?” she involuntarily asked herself, 
and there was a feeling of pride in the question- 
ing. She thought him worthy her love — the 
noblest among men. 

Then, with anguish came the thought : “ He 
loves another — I must learn to forget him. I 
have no right to think of him as I do. I 
must conquer myself. I will begin this very 
night.” 

Katherine had not been without admirers ; but, 
unsophisticated, poetical and dreamy, as she was, 
none had touched the heart. Barron was the 
first who had roused her deeper nature. 

She trembled as she sat at the piano. If she 
could only check this agitation. They would all 
notice it, and read her thoughts. Her heart flut- 
tered like a caged wild bird. Oh I if she could 
steal away from the gaze of all ! 

“Katherine,” said Mrs. Fielding, “you seem 
to be waiting a long time. Why don’t you 
sing ?” 

Without thinking, she began Jean Ingelow’s 
most touching song, “ Oh, fair Dove ! Oh, fond 


The Stolen Letter . 


119 

Dove !” At last she came to that verse, the very 
sigh of a broken heart : — 

M Oh, first love! Oh, last love! 

My love with the true, true heart! 

To think I have come to this, your home; 

And yet we are apart.” 

The thought, that to-morrow would find her far 
away from the man she loved, nearly overcame 
her ; for a moment her voice faltered, giving an 
added pathos to the sad, sweet words. Mrs. Field- 
ing called this artfulness, and flushed angrily ; but 
the eloquent sadness in the singer’s voice gave 
Barron a thrill of happiness he had never known 
before. 

“ Can it be that she feels sadly at parting?” he 
thought. 44 Ah, yes, my little love ! I have a 
4 true, true heart,’ and it beats for you alone ; nor 
will it be calm until I feel sure that you are all 
my own.” 

The song was finished ; Katherine, pale and 
miserable, asked to be excused, she was too ill to 
talk; and feared lest her extreme nervousness 
might betray her feelings. 

44 Yes,” said Mrs. Fielding, quickly, 44 you had 


120 Her Bright Future . 

better retire early. You have a long, cold journey 
before you to-morrow.” 

“Well, then, I suppose I must bid you good- 
bye,” said Barron. 

She gave him her hand. He took the small, 
cold fingers lightly in his own, and held them but 
a moment. He fain would have clasped her to 
his bosom ; but, with enforced coolness, he smiled, 
wished her a pleasant journey, and said “good- 
bye.” Mrs. Fielding had watched him keenly all 
the while. 

“ Good-bye,” echoed Katherine, faintly; and 
then gained the hall door, she scarcely knew how. 
She dragged herself up stairs, feeling so crushed 
and lonely. Once in her own room, restraint was 
past, and throwing herself upon the bed, she wept 
bitterly. 

“ Oh, my own love!” she murmured, “ you are 
my own ! No one can love you as I do ! Why are 
we thus parted ? Why am I so lonely ?” 

Long did she wrestle with her anguish. The 
intensity of her own nature was revealed to her 
for the first time. Little did she think the man 
she loved so deeply was also keeping love’s vigils 
the long night through. When the dawn came 


The Stolen Letter . 121 

Barron sent a boy to Judge Fielding’s with a note 
for Katherine. 

Katherine had fallen into a restless sleep toward 
morning, and when Mrs. Fielding entered the 
room she noticed her paleness and tear-stained 
face. Mrs. Fielding was smitten with momentary 
remorse ; and after looking at the sleeper for a 
moment, stole quietly out of the room* thinking she 
would not disturb her, as it was yet early. 

She had just descended from the room, and was 
in the hall, when a boy came with Mr. Barron’s 
letter. She took it, telling him she would hand 
it to Miss Seymour. 

Glancing at the address, curiously, she saw it 
was Mr. Barron’s hand- writing. A look of wrath 
came over her face. 

“ Indeed ! ” said Mrs. Fielding to herself, “ if 
Miss Katherine Seymour can receive love-letters 
from Mr. Barron, and in my house, too, it is quite 
time that I looked into the matter. She is only a 
child ; why should I not read this letter, if I 
choose ? Then, if it is best that she should have 
it, I can give it to her. Really, my duty to my 
poor Sarah requires me to read it.” 

Going to her room, she carefully locked the 


122 Her Bright Future. 

door; although she told herself she was only 
doing her duty, she did not wish to be surprised. 

She opened the letter, and, reading it, grew 
pale, in angry surprise. It spoke his love in elo- 
quent and passionate words, which carried con- 
viction even to Mrs. Fielding’s unwilling mind. 

He offered Katherine his heart and the devo- 
tion of his life. 

“ My darling,” the letter ran, “ fo~ I must call 
you so, write me when you have read this, and 
tell me if I dare hope for your love. I need not 
tell you of my suspense until I hear from you. 
I long to tell you all this, face to face, but have 
found no opportunity to speak with you alone.” 

When Mrs. Fielding had read this, her anger 
nearly choked her. She crushed the letter in her 
hands, and thrust it into the burning grate. 

“ Oh, the artful, wicked creature ! ” she died, 
“ to come into my house, and win away her cous- 
in’s lover, with her smiles and arts. Thank 
Heaven, she is going this very morning ! I only 
wish I had sent her away before this happened.” 

She was too angry to think of the cruel wrong 
she was doing her niece, by burning the letter. 
And so ends the first act of the drama, “ Misun- 


The Stolen Letter . 123 

derstanding.” The little rift was made — the 
little rift that, slowly growing wider, divides 
two lives. 

When Katherine came down, \e saw her 
aunt’s manner was unusually coo toward her; 
but she was so absorbed in her own sorrow — lov- 
ing a man who could be nothing to her — that she 
scarcely noticed it. However, Hugh observed it, 
and was annoyed at such treatment of his favor- 
ite cousin. 

“ Mother,” he said, “ you treat Katherine 
shamefully.” 

vVliat ! ” said Mrs. Fielding, “ are you in 
love with her, too ? ” 

“ Yes, I am in love with her, and not in the 
least ashamed of it,” said Hugh sturdily. “ Al- 
though she refused to listen to me when I told 
her my feelings, I can not have even you abuse 
her in my presence, mother ! ” 

“Oh, she understands how to manage men, 
and, no doubt, has fooled older and wiser ones 
than you, Hugh.” 

“ Nonsense ! She is a true-hearted, lovely girl, 
not half artful enough to match you and the 
girls. Don’t you suppose I can see why you are 


124 


Her Bright Future. 

bo anxious to hurry her off ? But your plans will 
never work, mother. Hartley Barron will follow 
her to Hillsdale, if he loves her half as much as ] 
think he does.” 

“ The deceitful creature ! I must say you all 
act like fools about her.” 

The carriage came, and Katherine and Hugh 
were driven rapidly away. She was pale and 
quiet, while Hugh was in the gayest spirits over 
the prospect of their journey. 

The “good-byes” had been quickly said, and 
Katherine gazed through a mist of tears, toward 
the house where she had spent so many happy 
hours* 


Indeuszotk 


,2 5 


CHAPTER XII. 

INDECISION. 

*In the greenest of our valleys.* 

The three charming villages of Hillsdale lie 
scattered along one of the most beautiful valleys 
of New England. Dr. Reed’s house is in Hills- 
dale proper. The large hotel is at the little wa- 
tering-place, Hillsdale Springs. East Hillsdale, 
a small hamlet, has a store and postoffice. They 
nestle at the foot of high and rugged hills, which 
shut out the noisy world from the peaceful vale. 

Katherine is sitting upon the piazza of her 
uncle’s house, watching the mists float far away 
over the valleys. Nature’s smiling face has been 
freshened by a shower during the night, but the 
morning’s golden sunlight has kissed the rain- 
drops from the buds and flowers. The pebbled 
walks were dry again. 

Dr. Reed’s house is a large, old-fashioned man- 
sion, well back from the highway, almost con- 


126 Her Bright Future* 

cealed by the tall maple trees which shade the 
lawn and croquet grounds. They are delightfully 
cool on hot Summer days. The broad piazza is 
supported by heavy pillars. From the piazza the 
view is very fine. It takes in a long range of 
hills, covered with a noble growth of pines, and, 
in the far-away, misty distance, a grand old moun- 
tain. You also get a glimpse of the white curl- 
ing road that winds round the mountain. Down 
the hillside lies Garrettville, a college town, ten 
miles distant. 

At one side of the house, and a little back 
from the lawn, there is an old-fashioned garden, 
where all kinds of sweet, familiar flowers per- 
fume the air, and gladden the eyes. There 
are carnations and clove-pinks; tiger-lilies and 
their stately white sisters ; roses, and poppies 
enough to send an army to sleep. Here, too, are 
larkspurs, the sweet mignonette, pansies and 
African marigolds, with their golden hearts and 
strong, rich fragrance, suggestive of barbaric, 
dusky princesses and tropical skies. 

Just beyond the garden is a lonesome little 
grove, the favorite haunt of the whip-poor-will. 
At night, when the sun goes down, and the even- 


Indecision. 


127 


ing star peeps shyly over the hill-crest, he 
begins pouring out his sorrow. Katherine’s win- 
dow overlooks both garden and grove ; Summer 
nights it is her favorite custom to sit by it late, 
listening to the whip-poor-will, half imagining he 
knows her heart-ache, and is sorrowing with her 
sorrow. 

The scenery around Hillsdale is so new to her, 
and its wildness so much akin to her own deep 
nature, that the days pass rapidly. But at times 
her half-admitted love irresistibly overcomes her, 
and the instinct which drives a poor wounded 
bird to solitude, takes her away on long, lonely 
rambles. 

The voice of the dark, ever-sighing pines, is 
fraught with comfort and sympathy. The brook’s 
murmur Is music to her ear, and the twittering 
birds so many messengers from him whom she 
loves. But her restless heart was not satisfied. 
Sometimes the desire to see him again tempts her 
to return to the city and seek some humble 
employment, that she may be near him. But 
again, her womanly, honest pride, so strong an 
element of her nature, asserts itself. She feels, 
reluctantly, that of all men, her cousin’s lover can 


128 Her Bright Future . 

be nothing to her. “ Probably he has forgotten 
the fact of my existence, by this time,” she says tc 
herself. The Summer is wearing away, and she 
is fighting the old, old battle between love and 
pride. Which will conquer ? 

Mrs. Reed is a kind-hearted woman, very fond 
of her plants and her home. Her daughter Lenore 
is a sweet-tempered girl, rather sentimental; she 
loves Katherine as a sister. Dr. Reed is a hard- 
working country physician, too much absorbed in 
the care of his numerous patients to notice much 
at home. 

“ The Maples” — the name of the manor-^is a 
very hospitable home ; and Mrs. Reed is best 
pleased when her house is filled with young 
people. “ This is 4 Liberty Hall,’ ” she often said ; 
“just do as you please, and make yourself at 
home ; only don’t expect me to entertain you. I 
leave all that to Katherine and Lenore.” 

The result is, the students at Garrettville deem 
it an especial favor to be invited to “ The Maples.” 
A member of the Senior class is just now enjoying 
the privilege. He has been out in the garden 
with Mrs. Reed this morning, apparently looking 
at the flowers. A keen observer would notice 


Indecision. 


129 


that his eyes wandered often toward the pensive 
figure on the piazza. He scarcely heard a word 
of the motherly lecture Mrs. Reed has been giving 
him about the injurious habit of smoking. 

At last he finds some slight excuse to get away, 
and saunters slowly down the garden walk, around 
the corner of the piazza, apparently intent upon 
the fine view of the hills. 

“What a morning it is I Miss Seymour,” he 
says, taking a seat near her. “ There lies a vale 
in Ida, lovelier than all the valleys of Ionian 
hills r 

“ Yes, we are quite proud of our valley ; but 
wait until you visit Winding Brook ; you never 
have visited the place, I think, Mr. Challoner ?” 

“No I I have heard much of it, though. Mrs. 
Reed was saying something about our going there 
this afternoon, and I am sure we could not ask a 
fairer day to make the trip.” 

“ You will have more climbing than you may 
enjoy; for the best view of the cascade, we must 
scramble up the steepest hill there is for miles 
around.” 

“All the better, then,” says Mr. Challoner. 

“It will take the place of my. gymnasium exerci- 
6* I 


130 Her Bright Future , 

ses. Of course you will find climbing tiresome 
work, you have so few hills in the west ; you must 
not hesitate to accept my assistance, for I am 
quite a mountaineer. You don’t believe one word 
I am saying, I see by your looks.” 

“ Oh, I don’t doubt you at all ; but the truth 
is, Mr. Challoner, I have some letters to write, 
and had thought of staying at home. There will 
be no necessity for my going ; you will have Hugh 
and Lenore for guides, you know.” 

“ You are a cruel young lady, and only seeking 
an excuse to avoid my company.” 

“ No, indeed, it is not that, I assure you ; I 
really have some letters that require answering.” 

“ V ery well ! I, too, have letters to write, and 
think I will not go to-day.” 

“ If you are going to be disappointed, Mr. Chal- 
loner, I will go ; but I shall be very dull company, 
as my mind will be on my letters.” 

“ I don’t want to annoy you, or urge you to go 
against your will ; but you know, very well, I 
should not enjoy one moment of the time if you 
were not there.” 

“ Should you not, Mr. Challoner ? J 
sorry.” 


am 


Indecision* 


131 

“ Why are you sorry ? I should be glad to hear 
that you sometimes miss me.” 

At this point she hears some one calling her, 
and not waiting to answer his question, leaves 
him to guess why she regrets he places so high an 
estimate upon her companionship. Indeed, it 
would have troubled her to answer the question 
herself. 

Frank Challoner is young, proud, talented, and 
strikingly handsome in person. Added to these 
attractions, he is the only male descendant of an 
old and wealthy Southern family. He is an inti- 
mate friend of Hugh Fielding ; has been much at 
Dr. Reed’s ; and, with each visit, finds the place 
more agreeable. Katherine is more discerning in 
such matters since the struggle with her cousin’s 
betrothed. She knows Frank Challoner admires 
her, and may be only waiting an opportunity to 
declare his love. 

“ Any woman might well be proud of such a 
love,” she says to herself. Yet, can Katherine 
reciprocate, or give him aught than a quite de- 
cided “ No? ” 


Her Bright Future 


1 i2 


CHAPTER XIII. 

WINDING BROOK. 

* The racing river leaped and sang 

Full blithely, in the perfect weather ; 

All ’round the mountain echoes rang ; 

For blue and green were glad together.” 

Why must Katherine waste her young life in 
grieving over the fatal past ? Brooding about the 
man whose looks so plainly said, “ I love you,” 
while his hand was pledged to her cousin. She 
must quench this foolish desire, or it will consume 
her ; yet she can not give herself to another. 

Time, oh ! time, must solve the mystery of her 
heart. 

Early in the afternoon they started for “ Wind- 
ing Brook Lenore and Hugh, Katherine and 
Mr. Challoner. The latter, sitting beside Kath- 
erine, talks constantly in a low, caressing voice, 
on subjects intended only for her ear. 

She looks very lovely ; the pure air and fresh 
breeze bringing variable colors to her soft cheeks. 


Winding Brook . 


133 


Admiration of the beautiful scenery in the glen 
through which they ride, lights her dark eyes 
with a wonderful glory. On every side myriads 
of mosses, ferns, and delicate wood-flowers, met 
the eye, and the faint scent of newly mown grass 
perfumes the air. It is the rosy month of June ! 

“ When flowers bloom and hay is down, 

And each shepherd woos his dear.” 

“ What a lovely cluster of purple blossoms !” 
cries Katherine ; “ please get them for me, Hugh.” 

But Challoner’s love made him the most nim- 
ble-footed ; he returns with them to the carriage, 
and is a long time fastening them in Katherine’s 
heavy brown braids. They soon arrive at the 
foot of the hills ; alighting, tie the horses, as there 
is only a foot-path leading to the cascade, the 
chief beauty of “Winding Brook.” Challoner 
gives his arm to Katherine, and they climb slowly 
up. 

The little mountain rill has increased to a 
torrent, by last night’s rain, and is foaming and 
tumbling along over its pebbly bed, with a roaring 
sound, heard long before you come in sight of 
the stream. 


134 Her Bright Future. 

“ Here it is,” says Hugh, who is a few steps in 
advance ; and then the beautiful cascade is before 
them. 

The winding stream rises among the high 
hills, gathering force as it courses down its 
way, and with a loud roar, tumbles over the 
precipice where they stand. 

Delicate ferns grow among the depths of the 
gray old rocks over-hanging the water, and their 
exquisite shades of green are kept fresh by the 
ever-falling spray. A few rays of sunshine, strug- 
gling through the dense shade, fall upon the rich 
green carpet of moss. 

Katherine and Lenore seat themselves upon 
the rocks, and gaze upon the charming scene in 
silence. Challoner has removed his broad-brimmed 
Panama, and leaning against a tree near by shows 
to advantage his lithe, graceful form, by his care- 
less attitude. Some men look lazy when they 
lounge, but there is something so spirited about 
this young scholar, so expressive of eager youth, 
that even in repose he looks full of life. He has 
dark, Southern eyes, clearly cut features, mobile 
pale face ; his physique is superb. The clear ivory 
tint of his cheeks denotes the student who “ burns 


Winding Brook . 135 

the midnight oil.” “He has the most brilliant 
mind in college,” Hugh declares. 

The grandeur of the scene hushed all tongues 
for a time. At last, Challoner, who has a poetical 
sensibility nearly akin to genius, could not refrain 
from repeating a few lines of a favonte poet. 

“Oh!” cried Hugh in mock distress, “if you 
and Kathie are going to quote poetry, Lenore and 
myself, poor prosaic mortals, will retire. Not one 
intelligible word shall we get from either of you 
while in that mood. Lenore, let us go and wait 
at respectful distance till this poetic frenzy abates. 
One might as well go under the fall and be del- 
uged with water, as to remain and be deluged 
with poetry. A veritable Noah’s flood it will be, 
old fellow, when you and cousin get started. 
Don’t let me disturb you. Quote away, children ! 
Lenore, we are too practical to appreciate half 
these fine things ; we will gather some flowers, 
and refresh our memories on the noble science of 
botany.” 

“We will go with you, Hugh,” says Kathe- 
rine, who, for reasons of her own, did not wish to 
be alone with Challoner. She knew he was' only 
awaiting a favorable opportunity to tell his love ; 


136 Her Bright Future . 

and, while there is much in him to admire, she 

dreads taking any decided step, which an ayowal 
of this love would render necessary. 

His companionship has been much to her lately. 
His conversation, always interesting, has often led 
her thoughts away from brooding over her loneli- 
ness. Now, at the possibility of losing his friend- 
ship, she sees that his companionship is more to 
her than she had realized. The thought that a 
talented, manly young man cares for her, if Bar- 
ron does not, has soothed her wounded pride more 
than she would have deemed possible a few 
months earlier. She does not really love him, for 
all that. Therefore she anxiously avoids a decla- 
ration. 

She arises from her seat, and keeps near Hugh 
and Lenore, who are a few paces in advance. 
They walked down the steep hillside, below the 
noisy cataract. Here the water ripples slowly 
over the mossy stones, and the sun falls brightly 
all around. The banks are rich with flowers, and 
the place, although very beautiful, is quite differ- 
ent from their first stopping-place. 

“Do let us stay here awhile,” says Lenore, 
“ this is such a nice seat.” 


Winding Brook. 137 

“ Well, you can stay here with Challoner and 
Katherine, if you have no taste for botany,” an- 
swered Hugh. “ For my part, I want to carry 
home some creeping fern. They say it grows 
about here, and my collection of ferns is very 
meager.” 

“ I will stay here,” says Lenore. So she lin- 
gers until Katherine and Challoner come up. 
Hugh is out of sight. 

They seat themselves upon a fallen tree, and 
chat idly. 

“I have been thinking,” says Katherine, as 
she watches the flowing waters at her feet, “ of a 
passage in Childe Harold, and I am afraid it will 
haunt me, if I do not repeat it. 

“ The rill runs o’er, and round, 

Fern flowers and ivy creep, fantastically tangled. 

The green hills are clothed with early blossoms, 

Through the grass, the quick-eyed lizard rustles ; 

An d the bills of Summer birds sing welcome as ye pass. 
Flowers, fresh in hue, and many in their class, 

Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes 
Dance in the soft breeze, in a fairy mass, 

The sweetness of the violet’s deep blue eyes, 

Kissed by the breath of Heaven, seems colored by its skies.” 

“ An apt quotation, and well repeated,” says 
Lenore. 


*38 Her Bright Future. 

44 Yes,” answers Katherine, a trace of bitter- 
ness in her tone, 44 1 believe I have a talent for 
acquiring all the useless accomplishments.” 

44 1 hope you don’t call your remarkable knowl- 
edge of the poets 4 a useless accomplishment,’ 
Miss Seymour,” said Challoner, quietly. 44 Noth- 
ing which carries the soul, tired and sad, from the 
harsh realities of a groveling life, into the purer 
atmosphere of poetry, can be called useless. 
4 Man shall not live by bread alone.’ How true 
this is ! Our better nature lives by all God tells 
us through the words of His inspired poets, as 
well as His prophets. Indeed, to me the words 
of the poets and inspired prophets are manna. 

“Poetry, instead of being classed among the 
useless, should be part of the religion of all earn- 
est souls. I think such a religion would do more 
to make men nobler and women purer, than all 
the creeds in Christendom.” 

Challoner paused, somewhat embarrassed at 
being betrayed into such an earnest and lengthy 
speech. 

44 1 must thank you,” answered Katherine, 
glad to have found in him so zealous a champion, 

44 for your eloquent remarks. Rarely do I find 


Winding Brook, 


139 


one who sympathizes with me in my great love 
for poetry. I had began to doubt my own feel- 
ings and tastes, lately, and think myself too sen- 
timental to be of any earthly use. 

“ I have actually regretted reading Shakspeare 
in my school days, and wished I h? i studied my 
4 multiplication table ’ instead. I v-^ould be better 
fitted to teach young America now I suppose you 
know I intend taking the Hillsdc*e school soon?” 

44 No! I envy the ‘young ideas.’ May I in- 
quire why you teach? Northern young ladies 
think the discipline benefit' their minds, I sup- 
pose.” 

Katherine answered frankly: “I don’t think 
any thing of the kind. select teaching, because 
it is the only lady-like employment I can find in 
Hillsdale, and I must h 2 ve the money it will bring 
me.” 

Mr. Challoner smiled at her frank confession 
of poi erty. 


140 


Her Bright Future 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ALL WRONG* 

“Was it not Fate, whose name is also Sorrow?** 

Frank Challoner’s eulogy on poetry frightened 
Lenore away ; and Katherine, in spite of her pre- 
caution, suddenly found herself alone with the 
man who loves her. For a time the murmur of 
the stream is the only sound that breaks the 
silence. At last Mr. Challoner slowly drew a 
case from a pocket very near his heart, containing 
a minature. After gazing at it intently for a 
minute, he hands it to Katherine, who had been 
watching him curiously, and, must it be confessed, 
with a little jealousy. It is the portrait of a love- 
ly young girl, apparently very nearly her own 
age. 

“So here, too,” she thought, “ is some one be- 
fore me ; while I, vain fool ! had been fearing I 
could not return his love sufficiently to bid him 
hope. Ah, me ! no one will ever love me better 


All Wrong . 14 1 

than any one else, unless it be poor Hugh. What 
a vain, silly fool I have been. ,, 

She looks long and admiringly at the picture ; 
she will not let him suspect, for a moment, the 
nature of her feelings. She returns the picture, 
and quietly says : 

“ I congratulate you, Mr. Challoner. She is a 
remarkably pretty girl.” 

“Well, yes,” he replied, looking at the picture 
again before returning it to his pocket; “Nellie is 
pretty, and the best sister in the world. I re- 
ceived this picture last week ; she has improved 
amazingly since I saw her last.” 

“ Your sister ! Mr. Challoner ?” 

“ Yes, my only sister. Who did you suppose 
it was, pray ?” 

“ I did not know — I thought it might be some 
one else,” said Katherine, blushing. 

Challoner’s eyes grew radiant as he watched 
her confusion ; a sudden joy illumines his face as 
he tells himself she must care for me, or she would 
not have been jealous. Almost before she can re- 
alize to where all this is sure to lead, he has drawn 
her to him. 

“ Katherine, did you think I would carry any 


142 Her Bright Future . 

picture but yours or my sister’s so near my heart ? 
You would never give me your picture, now I ask 
for your peerless self.” 

The strange jealousy she felt a moment before 
has completely unnerved her; and the reaction 
is a feeling strongly akin to love. 

“ Speak to me, Katherine !” he urged. “ Do 
not say you can not love me ; I love you better 
than life. I have loved your beautiful spirit al- 
ways. I have dreamed there might be a woman 
on this earth like you. I have tried to live worth- 
ily, nobly, for her sake, that if God granted I 
should ever find her, I need not blush when I 
asked her hand ; and now the lovely reality ex- 
ceeds my brightest dream.” 

She can not answer Challoner’s passionate ap- 
peal. 

Challoner is too courtly to press her for 
a kiss, but he looks wistfully at h«F exquisite 
lips. 

“My Katherine,” pleads Challoner, his hand- 
some clear face turned toward ler --“Oh, 
my darling, can I ever hope to ca 1 ? you 
wife ? ” 

Katherine’s “no” is very faint. R* draws 


All Wrong* 143 

her closer, and ventures a kiss upon her cheek, 
her eyes, her lips. 

On the way home, he has placed a ring upon 
her finger. She looks at it in dreamy wonder 
but makes no attempt to remove it. How fai 
away to her now seems the sorrowful past- She 
sigdis, and thinks it may be better so ; but as thej 
ride along the thought about another ring, which 
was returned to the giver, occupies her mind. 

“It was only a token of gratitude, after all/ 
she says to herself, with a sigh. “If it had been 
a love-offering, no one on earth should have 
robbed me of the precious token.” 

And yet, she is not insensible to the devotion 
of the noble young man at her side, who gazes 
on her with such worshiping, loving eyes. But 
there is something lacking in the happiness she 
experienced when Barron declared his adoration. 

At dusk they were home. As Challoner 
assisted her from the carriage, he lifted her hand 
reverently to his lips, and pressed a kiss upon the 
slender fingers. The blood rushed to her face, 
and she paused a moment before going into the 
house, lest her aunt should see her confusion. 

Challoner watches the opportunity, and asks 


144 Her Bright Future . 

to walk with her in the garden a few minutes, 
after tea. 

She promises, and then goes up to her own 
little room, where she has so often sat, dreaming 
of her hero. The moon rose slowly from behind 
the eastern hills, and the whip-poor-will’s sad 
notes reaches her ear. She thinks of Barron now, 
and, over all, the past; then, of the noble man 
who has placed his hand and heart at her disposal. 

She reasons with herself, and wonders why she 
is not the happiest girl in the world, with such a 
lover. She resolves that she will be happy, and 
accept Challoner as her suitor. She throws her- 
self upon the bed, and weeps long and bitterly. 
They are the tears of renunciation. 

Until now, she has been almost unconsciously 
clinging to hope. But by her own free act, she 
now casts aside the slightest chance of ever being 
more to Barron than a mere friend. 

Challoner’s ring seems to burn her flesh, and 
she takes it off impatiently. 

“Ah, no!” she says, putting it gently back 
again, “ I will not take it off. He loves me, and 
Mr. Barron said ‘ good-bye ’ as calmly as if I had 
been the merest stranger.” 


Late , so Late, 


*45 


CHAPTER XV. 

LATE, 80 LATE. 

* Oh, the silence that came next, 

The patience, and long waiting."' 

Barron waited anxiously and long for a reply 
co his letter. When a week passed, and it did 
not come, he found the boy by whom he had sent 
it, and questioned him. 

“Did you go directly to Judge Fielding’s 
aouse ?” 

“ Yes, sir ; and I gave the note to a lady, and 
she said she would give it to Miss Seymour.” 

“Surely, then, she received my letter,” he 
thought. “ I will wait.” 

Another week passed, and no answer came. At 
last, with a sense of having been discourteously 
treated, if not unkindly, he acknowledged to him- 
self that his hopes were in vain. He missed her 
more and more, as the days dragged by, and his 

love seemed to grow stronger, if possible. Feel- 

7 K 


146 Her Bright Future . 

ing as he did, it was painful to call at Judge 
Fielding’s, and sit in the room where he had first 
met Katherine, the room where he had learned to 
love her, and the room in which they parted. 
And, although he had a warm regard for Sarah, 
being constantly reminded of Katherine by these 
thoughts and associations, it became unbearable, 
and his visits grew less frequent. 

“ Do come and see us oftener, dear Mr. Bar- 
ron,” said Mrs. Fielding, in her motherly way, 
when he called one day, the first time in weeks; 
“ why, you are getting to be quite a stranger 
among us.” 

“ My time is much occupied just now, Mrs. 
Fielding,” was his answer. 

“ Oh, you work too hard, Mr. Barron. You 
look pale ; but I suppose you will soon go to the 
country, and there you will find rest and quiet.” 

“ Really, Mrs. Fielding, I had intended to re- 
main in the city this Summer ; but if you are going 
away, as you doubtless are, I may be tempted to 
follow you. Have you found out a sylvan retreat, 
where you can lie under green trees and watch 
the clouds, undisturbed by hotel gongs or brass 
bands ? If so, please to let me know.” 


Late , so Late . 


147 


“ There is nothing to disturb us but mosquitoes 
and frogs, where we are going,” said Lottie rue- 
fully, “ Hillsdale is so dull.” 

“Nonsense, Lottie, Hillsdale is a lovely place,” 
said Mrs. Fielding. 

“ Why can not you join our party, Mr. Barron ? 
My brother Edward is going with us, and you 
know he is good company. We are going to 
Hillsdale. It is a delightful place in Summer, the 
air is invigorating, and the sceneiy delightful and 
wild. Mrs. Reed, my sister, would be pleased to 
have you with us ; we are going to stay at her 
home. Do think the matter over, Mr. Barron.” 

“ I will, Mrs. Fielding ; and thank you sincere- 
ly for your kind invitation.” 

Barron was feeling as miserable as he looked ; 
and the lady’s sympathizing manner touched him. 

“ She said the name of the place was Hills- 
dale,” he mused, after he left the house, that day. 
“ Hillsdale ! why, that is where Katherine went 
after she left the city. Yes, I will go;” and then 
he cursed his folly in not going to her before and 
pouring out his love. 

He called at Mrs. Fielding’s a few days after, 
and said he would accompany them to Hillsdale. 


148 Her Bright Future. 

He would establish himself at the hotel at Hills- 
dale Springs, as he could not think of intruding 
upon Mrs. Reed’s hospitality. The prospect of 
seeing Katherine again gave him new animation. 
He would sit in his dusty office before the gas was 
lighted, during the brief lull in the whirl of busi- 
ness, and dream of Katherine with half-closed 
eyes. He thought of her, wandering through 
sweet country lanes by his side. How patient 
he could be in his persistance — unwinding the 
silken cord which had gradually gathered around 
his heart and bound him to her closer than a 
brother. He would fancy at times she leaned 
upon his shoulder, and looked up into his face, 
with her soul beaming out of those deep, liquid 
brown eyes. 

“ Darling,” he would sometimes murmur, half- 
aloud, “there is no one in this world like you — 
not one ; there can never be any other to me.” 

He found himself growing very impatient 
during the necessary time needed for preparation. 
Spring had never before been half so beautiful to 
him. As the time drew near when he should see 
Katherine, and he realized more and more the 
depth of his love for her, he trembled at the pos- 


Late y so I ite 


149 


Ability of disappointment. The thought that his 
letter had remained unanswered, troubled him 
not a little ; but his hopeful heart found refuge in 
the possibility she might not have received it. 

He would say to himself : “ I can tell her my 
love far better than it was expressed in that 
letter ; so, if it has miscarried, there is no great 
harm done.” 

In fancy, he pictured her face, when she real- 
ized how long and deeply he had loved her. 

Thus, day by day, the airy castles faded, one 
by one, and were built again. 

At last, the Fieldings and himself were in the 
cars for Hillsdale. To Barron they seemed to 
move very slowly. The distance grew gradually 
less between Katherine and himself. At last, at 
sunset, they arrived at Hillsdale. 

“ I will go to the hotel now,” he said, in reply 
to Mrs. Fielding’s invitation to go with them to 
Mrs. Reed’s, “ and will call on you this evening.” 

Mrs. Fielding and party soon found themselves 
at the “ Maples,” and received a cordial welcome. 

“ Really, Emily,” drawled Mr. Edward Sey- 
mour, in his languid way, as they sat on the 
piazza in the evening, “you have a charming 


150 Her Bright Future . 

view from here. I should like to spend all my 
Summers in this quiet nook, if I could board with 
you. I can’t endure the cooking at these hotels. 
But I presume the mosquitoes are very trouble- 
some ; are they not ? ” 

* No more so than in other country places, 
Edward,” says Mrs. Reed, prepared to defend the 
“Maples ” from all unfriendly criticism. 

Just then Katherine came out, awaiting an op- 
portunity for a little talk with her Uncle Edward. 

“Well, Miss Seymour, come here, and let me 
lecture you,” he commences, smiling good-na- 
turedly at her. “ What is all this I hear about you ? 
Hugh wrote us that half the students in Garrett- 
nlle were in love with you ; that the faculty 
have united in signing a petition, begging you to 
go away, so that the young gentlemen can attend 
to their studies. Now tell me all about it, child, 
instantly.” 

“ There is nothing to tell, Uncle Edward ; and 
Hugh ought to be ashamed of his nonsense. He 
would make you and aunt think all the young 
men in the country were in love with me. He is 
my worthy knight.” 

“ I suppose you could tell me all in the words 


Late> so Late . 


151 

of the old conqueror : Veni , vuft, wci. Am I not 
right ? W ell, I shall have to ask Mr. Challoner 
about you, you are so reserved with your uncle. 
Sincerely, my dear, I am pleased, for your sake, 
that you have made so excellent a selection. 
Hugh has written us all about your engagement. 
He says Mr. Challoner is a thorough gentleman, 
a descendant of an old Cavalier family, as well as 
being wealthy. I knew, the moment I heard his 
name, that . he was of good family. I used to 
know a family of Challoners. ,, 

“ Frank’s ancestors came from England. 

“Well I am glad to hear that. There is noth- 
ing quite so good as the pure Anglo-Saxon race, 
after all, my dear. The Seymours are one of the 
oldest families in England. I have brought my 
history with me, Katherine, and hope to complete 
it this Summer.” 

“I am glad to hear that, Uncle Edward. You 
must be pleased to near the end of so great a 
task.” 

“ Yes, of course ; but, to change the subject : 
I suppose we shall see this young Mr. Challoner ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I presume he will be up from Gar- 
rettville to-morrow.” 


52 


Her Bright Future. 

‘ Did your aunt tell you that Hartley Barron 
came with us?” 

“No, she did not mention it. They have been 
very busy since they came. I presume she did 
not think of it.*” 

“ Hartley Barron !” how that name made her 
heart beat, even yet; and she the betrothed of 
another. 

“ Where is he stopping, Uncle Edward ?” she 
said faintly, while a thousand hopes and fears 
surged through her mind. 

“ At the hotel at ‘ the Springs.* He said he 
would call here this evening, and I think this 
must be him,” as a tall figure came through the 
gate. 

“ At last,” thought Katherine ; and she thanked 
the dusk that concealed her face. She knew how 
pale it must be, by the strange sensation at her 
heart ; it seemed almost to choke her. 

Barron came up the walk with a quick, joyous 
tread. He had seen the gleam of a white dress 
in the twilight ; and, with a true lover’s instinct, 
divined who was the wearer. 

He said “ good evening ” to Mr. Seymour, ami 
then came quickly to Katherine’s side. 


Late , so Late. 


153 


She arose, and gave him her hand. Nothing 
could have been quieter, more nonchalant than 
his manner. Sincerely as he loved her, and much 
as he desired to tell her, he shrank from what was 
so sacred to him, in the presence of others. He 
talked of the weather, the scenery around Hills- 
dale, and other matters of indifferent interest to 
both. At last Katherine suggested going into the 
house, and joining the family group in the 
parlor. 

Mrs. Fielding had arranged her plans too care- 
fully to allow Barron to remain in Hillsdale with- 
out being fully informed of Katherine’s engage- 
ment. Her conscience, now, was quite clear re- 
garding the letter ; and she reasoned, there would 
be no explanation likely to ensue under existing 
circumstances. Would not the companionship 
between Sarah and Barron in this lovely country 
place, at last lead him to a declaration of love ? 
She would appear at her best ; the country air al- 
ways improved her appearance. It gave her such 
a color, made her forget her stiff, shy ways, and 
appear brighter and younger. Then, besides, 
this engagement business was quite apt to 
be contagious ; seeing Katherine and Frank Chal- 
7 * 


154 Her Bright Future . 

loner together as betrothed lovers, would cer- 
tainly cure Barron of any lingering fancy he 
might entertain for Katherine. Thus reasoned 
this mother strategist. He will fall in with my 
plans ; his wounded pride will certainly seek con- 
solation in Sarah’s company. 

Mrs. Fielding was in excellent spirits and was 
very kind to Katherine. She had known of her 
niece’s engagement for some time, although she 
had never mentioned it to Barron. Now the 
time had come when she thought it would be 
safer to make known the engagement. There- 
fore she resolved to inform him as soon as 
possible. 

Barron was talking with Katherine, and noting, 
with eager, lover-like delight, every tone of her 
voice, and each expression of her mobile face, 
when Mrs. Fielding came to them. 

“Well, Miss Kathie,” she .said, tapping the 
girl playfully with her fan, “ you really deserve a 
good scolding for being so very sly. Why did 
you not write and tell me all about your engage- 
ment before this ? But Hugh did, so you see we 
know all.” Then turning, she said : “ Mr. Barron, 
what do you think of this naughty girl ? She has 


Late , so Late. 


ISS 

been here only a few months, and has already won 
the heart of a young gentleman who is the hero 
of the college, Hugh says.’’ 

Here Katherine murmured some apology. 

“ No ! you need not say that. I am sure you 
ought to be veF y proud of him, if what Hugh tells 
is true.” 

Katherine looked embarrassed and annoyed, 
while Mrs. Fielding continued, still addressing 
her remarks to Barron : 

“Well, sir, shall we congratulate her on the 
conquest, or scold her for not telling us about it 
before ? ” 

Ah ! what anguish came to Barron’s heart, as 
he listened to those words ; how suddenly his air- 
castles melted away in mist. He could scarcely 
endure this sudden revelation. He had not 
dreamed that Katherine — his Katherine, as he 
fondly, to himself, had called her — could be 
engaged, and to another. 

It was too hard ! It could not be true. There 
must be some mistake. Mrs. Fielding was look- 
ing at him keenly, awaiting a reply to her ques- 
tion. He could not dissemble enough to give a 
sensible, calm answer; he only stammered out 


156 Her Bright Future . 

something about “ congratulations and best wish- 
es,’’ and arose, abruptly saying that “ the evening 
was very warm, and, if they would excuse him, he 
would smoke a cigar on the piazza with Mr. Sey- 
mour.” 

Once out in the cool air, he c#uld command 
himself better ; could think calmly over the utter 
loneliness that came with Mrs. Fielding’s words. 
He walked into the garden, and paced up and 
down the walk, with tightly clenched hands. 
His love and his reason were in fierce struggle. 
He saw nothing. He heard no sound. He seemed 
to live years, and, in that brief half hour, to 
grow suddenly old. 

Then there came an angry self-contempt: 
“ Why should I love her thus,” he asked him- 
self, “ when she did not care for me sufficiently 
even to answer my letter ? She might have done 
that at least, and told me kindly she could not 
love me. If she had only done so, I would have 
known there was no hope. I could have borne 
my sad fate better ; for I should not have come 
here with my heart full of expectancy. 

“ Oh, Katherine, you looked so good and 
noble, I did not dream you would treat me, or 


Late , so Late . 


157 

any one, so heartlessly. I may have seemed over- 
bold and confident. But I was sincere.” 

“ Whip-poor-will ! whip-poor-will ! ” sang the 
melancholy night-bird in the wood beyond the 
garden. The plaintive note seemed to Barron the 
most exquisitely mournful sound he had heard 
in all his life. 

“ Ah, well I ” he said at last, with a long, long 
sigh, “I have only my work left me now — no 
more love-dreams for me. They only bring dis- 
appointment and sorrow. God bless her ! I hope 
he is half worthy of her — no man could be fully 
so.” 

After a while, he returned to the house, for 
the Spartan laws of decorum permit no evidence 
of feeling, or out-cry of weakness. Hearts may 
break, but it must be in silence. Though the 
soul may be crying “ Lost, lost,” the lips must 
babble on smoothly. 

Barron hid his grief well, as became a brave 
man. He conversed with Lenore and Sarah in 
his usual bright and entertaining way ; yet, he 
could not command himself sufficiently to talk with 
Katherine. The thought that she had given her 

love to another, and could be no more to him than 

% 


158 Her Bright Future . 

a mere friend, was too much to bear in her imme- 
diate presence. He avoided her. When his feel- 
ings were subdued, he would be to her a faithful 
friend. He could not trust himself sufficiently 
to talk with her again that evening. 

She was grieved at his manner, and tried to 
console herself by thinking of Challoner’s visit on 
the morrow. 

“ He loves me,” she thought, “ and, oh, how 
unworthy I am of his devotion. I am unhappy 
because a man who cares nothing for me, chooses 
to avoid me. Frank never slights or avoids me. 
If he were here to-night, I think I should not 
feel so very desolate.” 

Thinking of Challoner, she glances at the ring 
he had given her. Barron, looking at her for a 
moment, caught the wistful expression on her 
face, and the look she involuntarily gave the ring. 
It sent a new pang through his sorely jealous 
heart. 

And thus the evening wore away, very slowly, 
it seemed, to the company. At last Katherine 
found herself in her own room. Kneeling by the 
window, she prayed long and earnestly for 
strength to subdue the love for Barron, which 


Late , so Late . *59 

was ever coming up in her heart at the sight of his 
face, or the sound of his voice. 

Barron did not rest that night. He paced up 
and down his room, until the gray dawn came 
peeping in. Then he started for a long ramble in 
the woods. 

The eminently respectable lady who caused all 
this misunderstanding and sorrow, slept soundly. 
No pangs of a guilty conscience disturbed her 
tranquil slumbers. 


i6o 


Her Bright Future . 


CHAPTER XVI. 

HER COUSIN’S BETROTHED. 

“O, Melancholy I linger here a while.” 

Katherine has taken the Hillsdale school, and, 
iii spite of her early dislike for mathematics, is an 
excellent teacher. 

Katherine is in her little school-room. It is 
recess, and through the windows and door float 
the voices of merry children at play. 

Each window is frame to a living picture. 
Look which way you may, you catch a glimpse 
of forest, hill and winding river. 

Inside, a solitary, flaxen-haired boy is sitting in 
a corner, poring over a tattered spelling-book. 
He is a little rebel, and has been condemned to 
remain during recess, for some misdemeanor. A 
large bumble-bee that has sailed lazily in, and 
the little urchin, are the only companions of the 
teacher. 

She has just finished reading a letter, and the 


Her Cousin's Betrothed. 


161 

shadow on her face tells of trouble. It ran 
thus: 

Dear Katherine: — I have not heard from you in two 
long weeks, and am growing anxious; but no doubt your 
school keeps you very busy. I can only write a few lines to- 
day, as baby is not well, and I have no girl in the kitchen. 

Cousin Azariah is building a new house. I think I wrote 
you about it in my last ; but for fear I did not, will mention 
it again. It will be a very handsome residence when com- 
pleted. 

All your friends send love to you. I wish you would get 
some photographs taken for me, as you promised. I suppose 
you have changed a great deal. 

Oh ! how I long to see you ; but I know you are far hap- 
pier there than you would be in Linden Center. Oh, Kathie 1 
I saw father on the street a few days ago. He had been drink- 
ing, and was looking very badly. It gave me a great shock 
to see him looking so different from his old self. 

One of the tenants from the farm came here a week ago, 
on some business, and he told me that father was drinking 
harder, lately, and was sometimes very quarrelsome. He said 
Tom was almost a man, growing quite tall ; and that he was 
working very hard. He said when father had been drinking 
he always abused Tom, and our step-mother encouraged him 
in doing so. He said father choked Tom, one night, until the 
poor boy was faint, and came near dying. Only think of 
that, Kathie; or rather, try not to think of it, for it is too sad 
and horrible. You know the real cause of Walter’s death. I 
often think that if I ever have such another ordeal to undergo 

it will kill me. 

1 . 


1 62 


Her Bright Future . 

It makes me sorry to write about these things, for they will 
sadden you, and do no good. Yet, I feel as though you should 
know them. There is no one else to tell you. I have about 
me a constant feeling of dread that something terrible will 
happen at our old home some day. Happiness fled when drink * 
and our step-mother came. We can only pray that God may, 
some day, incline father’s heart to a better course. 

Write me about Mr. Challoner. Aunt Emily seems to 
think he is an excellent young man, and that you ought to be 
very happy. I hope you will be, dear sister, for you have cer- 
tainly known sorrow enough. 

I must close, as John has just come home, and I must get 
supper. 

Write to me soon, very soon; and believe me always. 

Your loving sister, 

Helen E. Gaylord. 

The letter has fallen from Katherine’s hands, 
and she sits gazing thoughtfully away through the 
open window, toward the purple hills. Her 
thoughts are wandering back to childhood on the 
old farm. 

She. sees again, in fancy, her brother, the bright 
companion of many a childish adventure — the 
little, sympathetic listener, with tears in his large 
brown eyes, as she tells him of boys lost in forests, 
and wandering far from friends and home. 

He has been like the hero of those childish 


Her Cousins Betrothed, 163 

tales, wandering all these years from Helen and 
herself. “ Poor Tom ! ” she murmurs softly to 
herself. “ Poor brother ! ” 

“ Did you say I might go out, teacher?” said 
the flaxen-haired lad, starting up from his seat, 
eagerly. 

“Yes, you may go now, Willie,” said Miss 
Seymour, arousing herself to a sense of the present 
surroundings. The boy bounds from his seat joy- 
ously, and Katherine is left alone with her 
thoughts. 

She is so absorbed she does not notice a gen- 
tleman standing in the doorway, looking at her 
with a grave smile upon his face. He speaks her 
name gently, and looking up, she sees it is Mr. 
Barron ; she arises and goes forward quickly to 
welcome him. Mr. Barron is a privileged visitor 
at the weather-beaten old school house. He has 
remained at Hillsdale, notwithstanding the suffer- 
ing it causes him to see another the acknowledged 
lover of the woman he still adores. He is not a 
man to run away from any thing, even sorrow ; so 
he stays at Hillsdale, and faces his great disap- 
pointment bravely. 

He has seen Challoner ; and, while admitting, 


164 Her Bright Future. 

generously, his honest intentions, fine looks, and 
undoubted talents, there is an unspeakable some- 
thing about the young man which disappoints 
him. He can not define his feelings, nor give 
ground for his belief. He has studied Challoner’s 
character with eyes which his love for Katherine 
has made keen and critical, and he can not candid- 
ly say he thinks Challoner the man to make Kath- 
erine happy. Barron is noble enough to wish, for 
her sake, it is not so. Frank is brilliant, he ad- 
mits ; almost too brilliant, Barron thinks, with a 
sigh. It would be better for Katherine, with her 
peculiarly sensitive and poetic nature, had she 
found a lover, who — while possessing delicacy 
and spirituality enough to sympathize with her — 
had the manly strength of character needed to 
guide her in times of trial. 

Trials will come ; and to whom can we look 
for earthly consolation with such confidence as to 
the one who has sworn to love, cherish and 
defend ? 

Barron thought of all these things, sorrowfully, 
as he watched young Challoner; and he resolved, 
although fate had robbed him of one dearer 
to him than life, that his brotherly care and 


Her Cousin's Betrothed. 165 

watchfulness over Katherine should never cease. 
He noticed that Katherine seemed unhappy at 
times, and thinks she has possibly observed the 
flaws in her lover’s character — flaws which this 
keen lawyer and man of the world has also 
detected. Shades of arrogance, often seen in 
shallow characters, would show themselves. Sel- 
fishness, although well-hidden by Challoner’s pol- 
ished manners, occasionally crops out. 

With all this, Challoner is a very devoted lover, 
and Katherine chides herself for being ungrateful 
and wicked in feeling so sad and lonely. 

Mrs. Fielding puts only one construction upon 
Barron’s prolonged stay at Hillsdale, which, of 
course, is the one most favorable to her wishes and 
plans. She is, generally, in excellent spirits — 
always planning some pic-nic or excursion for the 
young people. 

Harry Featherstone has come up from the city, 
and is stopping with Barron at “the Springs.” 
He seems to enjoy Lottie’s company very much, 
and Mrs. Fielding’s face beams with motherly joy 
at the prospect of having both daughters well 
established. 

Barron came to the school-house, to tell Kath- 


1 66 Her Bright Future . 

erine they were all going to Wildwood Lake fora 
drive, and afterward a row by moonlight, and 
that she must come home from school early — “by 
half-past three, anyhow, for we want to get an 
early start,” he says. 

After hearing the message, she is about to ring 
the bell for the children ; he gently prevents 
her, taking the bell from her hand. 

“ Please let the children have ten minutes 
more,” he pleads. “I want to speak with you.” 

She obeys, wondering greatly what he can 
have to say. He looks very grave as he com- 
mences : 

“ Miss Seymour, I think I have noticed lately, 
that you avoid me ; and, knowing your kind 
heart, I have attributed it to that unfortunate 
letter of mine. I think it was the cruelest blow 
1 ever received — your not answering it ; but I 
do not, and will not, blame you, for it may have 
seemed strange and sudden to you — receiving 
such an avowal, when you had known me so 
brief a time. 

“ Yet, please believe me, Katherine, when I tell 
you that the reason I did so, instead of speaking, 
was because I could never see you alone ; I there- 


Her Cousins Betrothed. 167 

fore wrote that letter. I felt a little bitter at first, 
to think you would not even answer it; but it is 
all over now, and, if I can never be nearer to you, 
I want you to let me be your friend — your faith- 
ful, devoted friend. Will you not do this, Kath- 
erine? and do not avoid me, as you have done, 
for it grieves me.” 

She listened with a puzzled expression, which 
he could not interpret. 

“Your letter ! ” she says at last. “Really, 
Mr. Barron, I don’t understand you. I have 
never received a letter from you — never — I am 
quite sure.” 

The sudden pallor that creeps over his face, 
frightens her. 

“ Say that again, Katherine,” he says, in a 
strange, faint voice. 

“ I have never received a letter from you, Mr. 
Barron,” she repeats quietly and earnestly, and 
then she sees him bow his head upon the seat be- 
fore him, while the strong frame trembles with 
agitation. 

“ Oh, Mr. Barron, speak to me ! tell me what 
it is that troubles you,” she implores. 

He looks up after a few minutes, and taking 


1 68 Her Bright Future. 

her hands, gazes long and earnestly into her clear 
eyes. There is great sorrow in his own, strug- 
gling with joy, which, shining in the depths of 
those wonderful eyes, makes his face seem glorified. 

“ Katherine,” he said, “dear Katherine! I 
wrote you a letter while you were in New York, 
and sent it by a messenger, on the morning you 
left the city. If you did not receive it, there is 
some mystery about the matter, which must be 
cleared up.” 

“ Would you mind telling me the contents of 
that letter ? ” she asks, although a vague, blissful 
idea of what it might be, makes her tremble with 
happiness. Yet, believing Hartley Barron to be 
Sarah’s lover, she can not realize fully what his 
sorrow and agitation betray. 

“ Katherine ” — he answers, looking at her with 
eyes which make her own droop and bring a flush 
to the pale face — “ Can you be so blind ? Can 
you ask me such a question?” 

She suddenly remembers that he is her cousin’s 
lover, and has no right to look at her as he is 
doing now. She draws her slight form into an 
erect and dignified posture. 

“Why should I not ask that question, Mr. 


Her Cousins Betrothed. 169 

Barron ? I think it a very natural cue. What 
has my cousin’s promised husband to say to me, 
that he should write me a letter?” 

“ Your cousin’s promised husband ! Oh, Kath- 
erine, do you say that? You surely can not be- 
lieve it. I am no woman’s promised husband ! 
Only a lonely, sorrowful man, and likely to remain 
so,” answers Barron, very bitterly. “What an 
absurd idea, Katherine, for you to entertain ! I 
like Sarah as an old friend ; but I have no love in 
my heart for any woman but one.” 

She can hardly fail to guess who that one 
woman is, by the glance that accompanied these 
words. 

“ And so you are not engaged to Sarah ? ” 

“Upon my honor, Katherine, I never even 
spoke to her of love. She never told you that I 
was engaged to marry her, did she?” 

“Oh, no, never!” answers Katherine. She is 
too honorable and proud to expose Mrs. Fielding. 
Barron, seeing her confusion, asks no more ques- 
tions ; though he has shrewd suspicions as to thp 
cause of this cruel misunderstanding. Modest as 
he is, regarding his own merit, he has often 

thought, of late, that Mrs. Fielding’s extreme 

l 


170 Her Bright Future. 

kindness may have been prompted by selfish mo- 
tives. He changes the current of their talk. 

“ You ask me to tell you the contents of that 
letter. It would take me a long time ; and per- 
haps I do wrong in telling you, now that it is too 
late. But I can not have you doubt and misjudge 
me any longer. I will tell you all, and after you 
have heard my story, you will not think of me 
so unkindly as I know you often have. But I 
must go now ; I have already detained you too 
long. I will make an opportunity to see you 
alone, as, alas ! I ought to have done long ago. 
Will you meet me in the garden, Katherine, to- 
morrow evening ? I must see you for an hour, 
alone. Do not refuse me I It may be the last 
favor I shall ask of you.” 

She does not refuse him. Is not her own heart 
pleading for an explanation of this mystery ? How 
differently the world looked to her, now ! 

“ He has not deceived me. He has not loved 
another. He has not loved any wo;nan but one,” 
she says over and over to herself, thinking of his 
words. That “one woman” she knows is Kath- 
erine Seymour. Arousing herself from these hap- 
py thoughts, she sees her sister’s letter which has 


Her Cousin's Betrothed, 171 

fallen upon the floor. With a pang of self-reproach 
at her own happiness, she says : 

“ How selfish I am, to forget about Tom so 
soon,” and then, for the first time that afternoon, 
a thought of Frank Challoner comes. She looks 
at his ring. It seems a fetter now — a great 
sense of desolation and loss overwhelms her. 

“Alas!” she murmurs, “my beautiful ship 
has come in ; but what matters it, now, to me ? It 
has come too late! too late ! ” 


172 


Her Bright Future . 


CHAPTER XVII. 

TELL ME YOUR WISH. 

M One true heart beats for thee alone.” 

Katherine finds them waiting impatiently for 
her, when she comes from school. 

She feels uncomfortable and shy toward Chal- 
loner as he takes his seat by her side ; while his 
manner toward her is unusually tender and de- 
voted. He discovers that she desires to be quiet , 
so he leaves her to enjoy her own company, while 
he keeps the other occupants of the carriage in 
gay spirits, by chatting in his odd, original 
way. To-day he is very bright — sometimes 
witty. 

Katherine does not heed him ; she is thinking 
of the afternoon’s revelation, and looking forward 
to her coming interview with Barron. 

About sunset they arrive at the lake. They 
spend a pleasant hour upon the tranquil waters. 
Myriads of water-lilies blossom upon the surface, 


Tell Me Your Wish. 


173 

and their pale faces are turned heavenward like 
so many pure, prayerful nuns. 

When they drive homeward the stars are out, 
and the new moon casts a halo of silver light over 
the hills. 

“Why are you so quiet, Katherine?’’ Chal- 
loner tenderly asks, as he wraps her cloak about 
her ; the dew is falling, and the night air is grow- 
ing chilly. “There’s the new moon. Let us 
wish, and see if the old superstition is true.” 

They gaze at the slender crescent in silence. 
Then, Challoner insists on Katherine telling him 
her wish. 

“ You are foolish to ask, Frank I You will be 
much happier in not knowing,” she said to him, 
and the earnest ring of her voice surprises him. 

“ Why, Katherine ! I did not care very much 
about it before ; now you have aroused my curi- 
osity ; please tell me what you wished, dearest ! ” 
he urges. 

How can she tell him ! The dearest wish of 
her heart is that Hartley Barron may prove to her 
he loves her — has loved, even as she has loved 
him ! — even as she loves him now ! 

“ His love,” she thinks, “ can never make me 


174 H er Bright Future 

as happy as once it would have done. I can bear 
almost any thing, if I may only hear, from his own 
lips, that he has held me dear.” 

“ Katherine,” says Challoner, “ I will tell you 
what I wished. I wished, with all my heart, that 
we might be married immediately after I graduate. 
I wish to take you home with me when I go. 
Besides, I am getting jealous of that Mr. Barron. 
He is fond of you, darling ; I know it by his ex- 
pression when he looks at you.” 

Katherine trembles at the thought of marrying 
the man at her side. Can she marry him. Ought 
she ever to have promised to marry him ? Oh I 
how much she would now give for freedom ! It 
can be had only by walking ruthlessly over the 
ruined hopes of one who loves her passionately. 
The price of happiness is too costly — she can not 
break her word. 

She never forgot the struggle in her heart 
that night, as they “ rode beneath the deep-hill 
shadows,” and saw, 

M Below them far, the white fogs walk. 

Like ghosts, the haunted meadows.” 

Nor did Frank Challoner forget that ride. He 
thought of her often, in after years, as she looked 


Tell Me Your Wish. 


175 

then ; her pure face seeming so saintly in the 
moonlight. 

The words of a song float sweetly out upon the 
cool night air : — 

** O, loving heart! trust on, trust ol! 

One true heart beats for thee alone.” 

Katherine, listening to the song, smiles sweetly. 
Challoner, seeing the smile, imagines she is ten- 
derly thinking of him. She is dreaming over these 
words, spoken in the school-room to-day : “ I have 
no love in my heart for any woman but one.” 


176 


Her Bright Future* 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

IN AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN. 

“Noblesse oblige.” 

It is eight o’clock. And Katherine findt, her- 
self free to meet Barron. The balmy breeze is 
shaking the perfume from the flowers, and a few 
threatening clouds are in the sky. The whip- 
poor-will has commenced his evening song, as, 
with beating heart, Katherine goes out by 
the side door, down a path through the maples, 
into the old-fashioned garden. 

Barron has been waiting, and meets her at the 
gate. Giving her his arm, he leads her down the 
path, through beds of carnations and mignonette. 
They do not speak for a long time ; both hearts 
are too intensely full of happiness, nearly akin to 
pain. At times, silence is most eloquent between 
persons so dear to each other. 

Barron thinks if Death should seek them both 
now, he would not be an unwelcome visitor. He 


In an Old-Fashioned Garden. 177 

has been so sorely tried of late, that he has grown 
almost desperate ; but calmer thoughts soon 
come. 

At last, he leads Katherine to a seat, and tells 
her all ; how he had loved her since that evening 
at the opera ; how jealous he was when Harry 
Featherstone talked with her ; how vainly he had 
sought an interview ; how he had written to her ; 
how he waited for an answer ; how his heart had 
grown sick with hope deferred ; that he came to 
Hillsdale, to tell her all, and learn his fate from 
her own lips ; and how, upon the evening of his 
arrival, he learned of her engagement to Chal- 
loner. 

She sat as if in a trance, while he pursued his 
story. She uttered not a word; her heart was 
too full. 

“ I do not tell you this, in the hope that you 
will be disloyal to Challoner, ,, he said. “ I pray 
that you may be very happy with him. God 
knows how dearly I love you. I would give up 
any thing for you. At first, I felt wicked and 
selfish. I could not help it. I have conquered 
all that now ; but I could not allow you to think 

I would deceive you, by word or look. You 

8* M 


178 Her Bright Future, 

women are too keen-eyed in matters of the heart, 
not to have noticed them. I am not fickle, and I 
despise a man who flatters a woman that she is 
loved, then leaves her with her grief when his 
fancy falls upon some new face. You do not 
blame me for telling you all ? ” he whispers 
gently. 

Her head is turned from him. The night is 
dark. He can not see her face. She does not 
answer. Gently and very tenderly he draws her 
toward him. A tear fall upon his hand. It sends 
a strange tremor through him. Its subtle power 
almost unmans him. 

He murmurs “ My darling ! ” Almost uncon- 
sciously their lips meet in a long, impassioned kiss. 

The whip-poor-will pours out its plaintive 
song. 

Katherine is the first to speak : “ Am I false ? 
Am I false? My hand is pledged to one — my 
heart is held by another,” and tries to withdraw 
from his embrace. 

“ No, my love,” answers Barron, “you are not 
false. I only am to blame, if either has done 
wrong. I should have known I could not resist 
clasping you in my arms, if you were near me* 


In an Old-Fashioned Garden. 179 

I know now that you would have loved me, 
had not cruel fate ordered otherwise. I will not 
keep you longer ; but, say that you forgive me, 
before you go.” 

“ You know that I forgive you,” answered 
Katherine. 

“ And promise you will write me, if ever you 
need a friend.” 

“I promise,” she said faintly. 

Her heart was very sad. 

“No matter how hard the task may be, I 
will undertake it for your sake. No matter 
how far away I may be, I will come when you 
call me. Give me the rose you have in your 
hair. I shall wear it near my heart. It shall be 
my talisman. I am going away, Katherine.” 

“ Going away, so soon ? ” 

“ Yes ; to-morrow. After this, I could not en- 
dure seeing another claim you as his own, and 
Challoner has that right.” 

“Oh, Hartley,” she cries. It was the first 
time she had ever called him by that name ; and 
though it made her tremble a little, it sounded 
painfully pleasant. As she realizes how dear he 
ia to her; how much she has leaned upon him 


180 Her Bright Future* 

for advice during the Summer ; and, even with so 
much misunderstanding between them, she can 
not bear to have him go. All her strength seems 
ebbing. 

“Yes! I must go, Katherine! You know I 
would not rob another of the woman he loves, 
when they have plighted troths, if I could. I 
must flee the temptation ! 

“It is hard — hard for us both. My desire is 
at war with my judgment. I can not weigh it 
justly, with you before my eyes. The tempta- 
tion to have you in spite of every principle, right 
or wrong, is too great. But either of us must not 
sacrifice honor.” 

As he finishes, Katherine, looking up at him, 
loves him more than ever. He is so strong — so 
noble. He takes her hand at last, and places 
upon her finger the ring she once refused to wear. 

“ Wear this for me, Katherine,” he says, “ and 
when you look upon it, believe there is in this 
world one person who is faithful to the love he 
bears you — yes, faithful unto death ! If you are 
in trouble, send for me, and I will come, though 
oceans divide. Promise me, dearest ! ” 

“ I promise ; but, oh, Hartley, do not go away 


In an Old-Fashioned Garden. 1 8 1 

to-morrow. Do not go away so soon ! What shall 
I do ! How can I live without you ? ” 

“ You will not live without me. So long as 
we two exist, our spirits shall be one.” 

Katherine’s pale face glows now with spiritual 
beauty, as she answers : “lam glad to hear you 
speak so, for I sometimes believe I shall not live 
many years.” Then, as she thinks, what life 
will be without him — a barren waste — she leans 
her weary head upon his bosom and weeps silent- 
ly. Gently he strives to comfort her ; strokes her 
hair, as if she were a grieved child, though his 
own heart is almost ready to break. 

It is late when she lifts her tear-stained face. 

“ Good-bye, my only love,” he says ; “ hereafter 
I shall only see you before others. Oh, Kath- 
erine, Katherine ! you can not know how hard it 
is for me to leave you. I know at last you love 
me. This will sustain me. I must act honor- 
ably, no matter what suffering it may bring. 
One more kiss, darling ; it may be the last.” 

A few moments later she is in the house, 
and in her own room. Lottie, coming in, finds her 
silent, and complaining of a head-ache, so does not 
urge her to go down stairs. 


1 82 Her Bright Future. 

Katherine finds it very difficult to meet Clial- 
loner after this, though he does not seem to notice 
the subtle change in her manner. He appears to 
grow fonder of her, as she becomes more pensive. 

She resolves to tell him all, and ask to be re- 
leased. 

Several times she endeavors to lead the con- 
versation into a channel that will give her an op- 
portunity, but it is always checked by some en- 
dearing expression, or protestation of his faith in 
her. This makes it the harder, and she postpones 
the task from day to day. 

Barron has returned to the city, and she hears 
nothing from him ; but he is ever present in her 
thoughts. 

The Summer is passing, and the young people 
of “ the Maples ” make the most of the long, bright 
days. 


This Sordid Age. 


183 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THIS SORDID AGE, 

“Under the greenwood tree.” 

The company at “ the Maples ” were assembled 
under the wide spreading old trees. They had 
beefi playing croquet, and sat down to rest before 
going in. 

Challoner brought a book, and began to read 
to Katherine ; as he was a fine reader, the others 
drew together, gradually, and he was soon sur- 
rounded by an attentive audience. 

By some fatality, as Katherine thought, the 
poem selected was “ Guinevere.” The musical 
intonations of the reader’s voice gave added pathos 
to the touching story ; and, as he read, there fell 
upon the company a profound silence. 

There is nothing in modern poetry more sub- 
lime than Arthur’s words to the Queen, after she 
has fled to the convent, where he visits her before 
his last battle. 


1 84 Her Bright Future . 

Challoner’s impressible nature seemed to catch 
the spirit of the great King as he read : 

* My love hath wrought into my life so far, 

That my doom is, I love thee still. 

Let no man dream but that I love thee still. 
Perchance and so thou purify thy soul, 

Hereafter in that world where all are pure, 

We two may meet before high God ; and thou 
Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know 
I am thine husband, not a smaller soul, 

Nor Launcelot, nor another. Leave me that, 

I charge thee, my last hope! ” 

The reader paused, and laying aside the book, 
with a smile at Katherine, whose large eyes were 
misty, said he would read no more. 

“ How very blind she must have been not to 
have loved King Arthur,” said Lenore, with a 
sigh. “ What grand unselfishness there is in 
those words ; how very different he must have 
been from men of the present age. Men, nowa- 
days, think it no shame to bruit their domestic 
troubles abroad, and the world sneers at it ; or, 
they will cover a wife’s name with shame, because 
of some real or fancied wrong done to their vani- 
ty. It is almost always their vanity that is hurt, 


This Sordid Age. 185 

more than their feelings ; any one will observe 
who has studied the matter. This is not the age 
of heroes.” 

“ Nay, Cousin Lenore, I think you are wrong.” 
It was Sarah who spoke, in her quiet tones. “ I 
believe with Aurora Leigh : 

‘ All actual heroes are essential men, 

And all men possible heroes.’ 

and that 

4 Every age, through being held too close, is ill discerned 
By those who have not lived past it.’ 

44 Besides, poets have only preserved the excep- 
tionally fine character of past ages, while men 
and women of mediocre talent have been allowed 
to die in the natural way. Rest assured, my cousin, 
human nature is much the same as it was in the 
days of chivalry. It only needs a fit occasion to 
call out the heroism lurking in men’s hearts. We 
have abundant proof of this in the war chapters 
of our country’s history. If any thing, I think 
men purer. Women have so many privileges in 
these days, that a lover-knight, sworn to avenge 
their wrongs and defend their rights, is really 
unnecessary. All true men are ready to defend a 


1 86 Her Bright Future. 

44 Yes, I know ; and yet the age is a sordid 
one. You can not deny it.” 

“I do deny it most earnestly, Lenore. You 
think it wise to abuse the times in which you live. 
Many others have made the same mistake. It’s 
only poets who see common things blazing in the 
light of divine significance.” 

44 You are right in the main, Miss Fielding,” 
said Challoner ; 44 and yet, there are some things 
in which we certainly have grown degenerate. 
Respecting ladies, for instance — how much more 
sacredly they were guarded. I think this horrible 
publicity to which American women are constant- 
ly exposed, takes away the greatest charm of 
shrinking modesty, delicacy and womanhood. 
One can not imagine a Juliet, or a Cordelia, mak- 
ing speeches from a public platform, or appearing 
in the courts of law. I declare, I have so great 
a horror of women appearing in such public 
places, even when necessary as witnesses, that I 
would sacrifice almost any thing, rather than 
have the woman I love go through such an 
ordeal.” 

44 Why, Frank,” said Lottie, 44 there was Portia. 
I am sure she was a charming character; yet, she 


This Sordid Age . 187 

appeared in court, and dressed* in a lawyer’s 
gown, too.” 

“ Oh, yes, I know that, and most people ad- 
mire the character ; but that was a very different 
affair, and does not alter my opinion in the least.” 

“ You are so headstrong, Frank, I should not 
attempt to change any of your pet theories.” 

“ Well, to return to our theme,” said Chal- 
lOner ; “ I was about to remark that, if Guine- 
vere had lived in these degenerate days she 
would never have retired to a convent ; she 
would have applied for a bill of divorce, and, 
if she succeeded in getting it, would have 
married Sir Launcelot. Women are getting to 
be much more enlightened than they formerly 
were! Though they gain in worldly wisdom, 
they lose in womanly delicacy. We have no 
more charming pictures of a fair lady, sewing or 
embroidering, in a turret chamber. Now the sew- 
ing is given to the seamstress, or the sewing ma- 
chine, while the fair lady promenades the street, 
searching for bargains in silk, or lounges while 
she reads the last newspaper gossip.” 

“Alas, poor Frank I how I pity you ! Shall I 
tell you how to get away from all these shocking. 


1 88 Her Bright Future. 

common-place things, since you consider our civ- 
ilization a failure ? ” 

“ Yes, pray do, cousin Lottie.” 

“ Well, you are Turk, sir, — a barbarous Turk; 
and in order that your taste will not be shocked, 
you must go to Constantinople. I think your talk 
heathenish to a high degree ; for my part, I con- 
fess my admiration for the girl of the period ! ” 

“ So do I,” said Harry Feathers tone, with a 
sly glance at Lottie, which brought the quick 
blush to her cheeks ; “ I am sure your turret 
chamber damsel made a most stupid companion, 
without an original idea ; except, perhaps, about 
the different shades of silk she used in her ever- 
lasting embroidery. I like a woman who can talk 
with me, and sometimes get the best of the argu- 
ment, too. Such women sharpen a man’s wits 
amazingly. They are mental tonics. Besides, I 
can’t say that I ever admired the way those me- 
diaeval chaps had of going around, poking spears 
into every fellow who would not swear that the 
first party’s lady love was fairer than all other 
women on earth ; that her eyes were brighter than 
the moon, and all that sort of stuff. Now, really, 
I call such customs a trifle absurd. Then, how 


189 


This Sordid Age . 

remarkably uncomfortable they must have been 
on a hot day, clad in armor, and with those queer 
things on their heads. ,, 

“ Helmets, you mean, Harry,” said Lottie. 

“ Yes, helmets ; they look like inverted soup 
kettles, you know.” 

“ Oh, how irreverent you are, Harry ! ” 

“Well, I feel irreverent when I think of wear- 
ing a helmet on a day like this. The mere thought 
of it makes the perspiration start from every 
pore.” 

They all laughed at his comically doleful 
look. 

“ Thank you, Mr. Featherstone, for defending 
the girls of the Nineteenth century so well. Your 
view is the right one. Cervantes saw how absurd 
it all was ; and after Don Quixote was written, 
chivalry died. I am proud of the present age ; 
and frankly admit that I prefer a good novel, or 
an excursion down to Stewart’s, to perpetual spin- 
ning in an old turret chamber — no matter how 
romantic or ivy-covered it might be. And further, 
in my estimation, the man who can make plenty 
of money, and give me at least two-thirds of it, is 
the most sensible hero. Now, Mr. Challoner, an- 


190 Her Bright Future. 

nihilate me by your scornful glances, do ! ” and 
the saucy girl shook her head in protest against 
Challoner’s contemptuous smile. 

“Well, well, my dear,” said Mr. Seymour, “I 
believe we began this conversation by speaking of 
King Arthur and his Queen. Now, King Arthur 
is a mythical character — quite so 3 but granting 
that such a person really existed, I believe, had 
we known him at his best, we should have found 
him much like any other high-souled gentleman 
of to-day.” 

“ I would have chosen him instead of Sir Laun- 
celot. I repeat it,” said Lenore. 

“No, Lenore, you would not have done any 
such thing. King Arthur’s chief glory was in his 
moral greatness ; and a woman will always choose 
the great, strong, muscular hero, no matter how 
shabby his record may be morally. Talk about 
‘the grandeur of moral courage.’ Bah! they 
never give it a thought when placed opposite the 
other kind. Deep in every woman’s heart there 
is a feeling of admiration for strength and animal 
courage; and the more delicate and refined the 
woman, often the deeper her admiration for these 
qualities in which she ig lacking. Now, for 


This Sordid Age. 191 

instance, there was Charlotte Bronte, who pos- 
sessed one of the most spiritual of natures. In 
her great novel she has chosen foi her hero a 
man of strong, fiery nature, and great physical 
strength ; while the man of cool blood, and moral 
greatness, is only a minor character. Poor 
Guinevere ! how could she help loving so grand 
a knight as Sir Launcelot, her companion and 
protector during that long journey? 

4 * Twas in the spring time of the year 
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere 
Rode through the coverts of the deer.’ 

Can you not see the picture they made — such 
a goodly pair ? ” 

“ She was not to blame for loving him,” said 
Challoner. “ Her sin lay in concealing it from 
her husband and king. See what misery came of 
it. I think it the most cruel act of which a 
woman can be guilty, to marry a man, without 
she is sure, beyond a doubt, that she loves him 
better than all earth beside.” 

“ We have had quite enough of this kind of 
talk, I think,” said Mr. Seymour, “ and I propose 
going into the house and partaking of some iced 


l 9 2 


Her Bright Future. 


lemonade. It’s exceedingly warm. I fear we 
have disgusted the sedate school-mistress with 
our random talk. She has not spoken for an 
hour.” (This was to Katherine, who was looking 
pale and unhappy.) “Well, little girl, what do 
you think? Have all the heroes been buried 
with Sir Launcelot and King Arthur?” 

“No, indeed, Uncle Edward,” answered Kath- 
erine, earnestly, “ I know there is one hero in the 
world, even now.” 

“ Oh, yes, of course ! and Katherine Seymour 
is the fortunate girl to whom he has given his 
heart. Am I not right ? ” 

She makes no answer, and Challoner, thinking 
she had him in her mind, is elated. He walks by 
her side as they sauntered toward the house, and 
speaks to her in a low voice : 

“ I am no hero, Katherine ; but true enough, I 
trust, to fight your battles so long as I have life, 
and to guard your name from every breath of 
slander.” 


Dirt Disaster, 


*93 


CHAPTER XX. 

DIRE DISASTER. 

* Still, where rosy pleasure lead*. 

See a kindred grief pursue,* 

Katherine asked herself many times, why this 
feeling of vague distrust haunted her persistently. 
Perhaps Challoner’s rhetoric was too fine, his sen- 
tences too poetical, for sincerity. Genuine feel- 
ing usually comes in few words. He seems only 
to like the bright and beautiful. His tastes are 
too refined, dainty and fastidious for a strong 
nature. 

“But what right have I,” she asked her- 
self, “ to criticize him — loving another, as I 
do?” 

She again makes the resolution to tell him all, 
and ask him to forgive and release her. This 
burden of deceit is growing too heavy to carry. 
Barron had said honor must be their guide ; and, 

like most conscientious natures, he fancied that 
K 


9 


194 Her Bright Future . 

which was hardest for him to bear must be right. 
He did not desire her to break her engagement 
with Challouer. He had gone away to battle 
alone with his sorrow. 

“ Katherine,’’ said Hugh, who had just come 
from the postoffice, “I have two- letters for you, 
and a newspaper.” 

“Well, give them to me,” she answers, smil- 
ing. The smile dies away, as she notes the grave 
look upon his usually cheerful face. 

“Dear Katherine,” he says, “be brave. I 
fear you have bad news.” The envelopes were 
bordered with black. 

“ Oh, give them to me,” she answers, “ I can 
bear any thing better than suspense.” 

As he hands them to her, he watches her anx- 
iously. One was in Helen’s well-known hand, 
and as she glances at it, she breathes more freely. 
Whatever the bad news may be, her sister is 
spared to her, and she murmurs a low “ Thank 
God!” 

The other was addressed in a rude, school-boy 
style. She opened Helen’s first, and, as she reads, 
her hands tremble, and her face grows paler every 
moment. The letter was as follows: 


Dire Disaster , 


195 


Dear Katherine: 

Another great sorrow has come upon us. Poor father is 
no more ! Had he died a natural death, we might have borne 
it with fortitude I But that he should be found in his own 
room — shot dead I It is too horrible ! and they have arrested 
Tom, on the charge of murder ! He is now in jail, and 
the neighbors believe him guilty. A pistol, which he bor- 
rowed a few days previously from a boy, was found in father’s 
room. It makes me heart-sick ! 

Of course, the boy is innocent He declares his first 
knowledge of the horrible deed, was the pistol-shot which 
waked him from a deep slumber. He ran down stairs to his 
father’s room, and found him on the floor — dead! 

I can not get rid of the suspicion that our step-mother 
has a knowledge of this deep mystery. She acts her part with 
all the cunning of her subtle nature. She does not charge 
T un with the deed directly — rather by intimation. She has 
appeared deeply grieved, and so worked on the sympathy of 
the neighbors; and, through her adroitness, Tom has been 
arrested. It has nearly broken the poor boy’s heart, and mine. 

Father’s terrible death will be heralded near and far, and 
should Tom be innocent, or otherwise, it is a stain on the 
name we have cherished with such justifiable pride. I should 
relieve Mr. Challoner from his engagement immediately. 
Come home to me, Katherine, come ! and may God be the 
trust of our afflicted family. 

Your own true sister, 

Helen. 

The other letter was from Tom, blotted with 
tears, and telling her of his arrest, declaring 


196 Her Bright Future . 

his innocence and protesting against such cruelty 
It was a manly letter for a boy of seventeen ; and, 
although full of sorrow, semed to breathe a spirit 
of confidence that he would soon be cleared from 
all suspicion. 

He had not been allowed to write either of his 
sisters while his father was alive, and this was the 
only letter Katherine had received from him. Nor 
had she seen him since the night she kissed him 
as he lay asleep in the little back room in the old 
farm house. 

She read Helen’s letter, only half comprehend- 
ing its meaning ; and now had nearly finished 
Tom’s, when a deadly faintness came over her, 
the letter fell from her hand, and her over-taxed 
nerves gave way. 

Hugh had been painfully watching her, and 
sprang in time to prevent her falling. Mrs. 
Reed gathered the letters, and, with a face scarce- 
ly less pale, glanced at their contents. 

Mrs. Fielding and her brother, though terribly 
shocked by the fearful news, retained sufficient 
presence of mind to arrange that Challoner and 
Harry Featherstone should be out of the way be- 
fore they talked much of the affair. 


Dire Disaster. 


197 


“It will be in every newspaper in the land be- 
fore another week goes by,” said Mr, Seymour. 
“ They will learn of our disgrace soon enough, so 
let us uphold the family honor while we can,” and 
sorrowfully he thought of his unfinished family 
history ; and how, at last, that record of the lives 
of brave men and pure women might be stained 
by this crime. “ God grant the boy may be inno- 
cent ! If he did commit the crime he is the first 
Seymour who has dishonored the name.” 


Her Bright Future » 


198 


CHAPTER XXL 

BLOOD 18 THICKER THAN WATER, 

“ So let them fall away, 

Friends of a Summer day.” 

The party at “the Maples” was breaking up, 
and the gay young people were departing - 

Katherine’s misfortune hung like a pail over 
the household. The easy-going, pleasure-seeking 
Edward Seymour, under the trying circumstances 
de^ a loped the latent strength of his character, and 
pro 9 ed a faithful friend to Katherine. 

“ I shall go with you,” he said, “ and see what 
can be done for Tom. God knows whether he is 
guilty or innocent ; but he has the same blood 
in his veins that I have, and he shall not lack a 
friend or money. Now, keep calm, my dear ; no 
good can come by exciting yourself. We will do 
our best for him.” 

Katherine made hasty preparations to return 
West. Challoner had heard of the terrible crime, 


Blood is Thicker than Water. 199 

and it was a great shock to him ; yet he did not 
let Katherine know his feelings. He seemed to 
be drawn closer to her by this great affliction. He 
called the day before she left Hillsdale. 

“ My dearest,” he said, “ you do not know how 
sorry I am, and how I wish I could go with you. 
My place is at your side ; it seems cowardly to let 
you go alone ; I shall pray for you most earnestly. 
You know how I am situated, and you will not 
blame me. Our Commencement comes soon, and 
for four long years mother and Nellie have been 
looking forward to my graduating. They are 
coming North to be with me then ; and it would 
almost break my mother’s heart if I were to dis- 
appoint her. If I considered only myself, it would 
be different. I would that I could guard you 
from the terrible publicity to which you will be 
exposed;” and he shuddered as he thought of 
Katherine in court. Then turning to her again 
suddenly, while a scarlet flush rose to his cheek: 
“ Katherine, I want to know if you love me suffi- 
ciently to make a sacrifice for my sake ? I do not 
want you to go West — stay here. Don't go, dear- 
est, don’t go ! You can do no possible good. If 
your brother is innocent, it will be so proven. 


200 Her Bright Future . 

You can not help him, and will be dragged into 
court under the most shocking circumstances. 
Just think how you will be stared at ; and proba- 
bly your personal appearance criticised by these 
horridly impudent reporters.- You know how I 
dread such notoriety. If you have any love for 
me, stay ! Your sister will do every thing for 
your brother that you could ; it will not affect her 
reputation as it will yours — she is married. My 
mother is one of the most fastidious of women ; 
and if your name should be bruited about in con- 
nection with a criminal trial, as it will be if you 
persist in the insane attempt to shield your broth- 
er, she would never get over it. Stay, dear, and 
see her. When she sees how delicate and refined 
you are, she can not help loving you, and I am 
anxious that she should. It would grieve her to 
think her only son was engaged to a girl whose 
brother was tried for murder ; and that you was 
mixed up in the case. Besides, it looks so un- 
womanly. Leave that work to lawyers, and stay 
here with me ! ” 

He paused, and waited for an answer. She 
listened to his pleading very quietly. The only 
evidence of her indignation was the quiver of 


Blood is Thicker than Water. 201 

her delicate mouth. She turned her honest, angry 
eyes full upon him. 

“ And this is your chivalry, Mr. Challoner ! 
You advise me to allow my only brother to take 
his chances with his counsel, perchance lose his 
life, because you deem it unwomanly for me to 
act in so public a matter ? Let my brother — my 
only brother, the playmate of my childhood — 
perish, without so much as lifting my hand to 
save him I Do I understand you aright ? I 
thought you brave ! I do not think so now ! I 
do not blame you for not wishing to go with me. 
I did not ask you; I never thought of it; but 
your advice to forsake my brother in this hour, is 
cowardly I Do not be alarmed about how your 
mother may feel. She could not think less of me 
than I should of myself, did I allow your advice 
to influence me in the least. I wish you to take 
back your ring. Forgive me if I wrong you. 
You can not see this in the light I do. We differ 
so widely about grave things, I am sure we could 
never be happy together.” 

Challoner paled at the word “ coward.” His 
dark eyes flashed ominously. He really loved 
her, in his selfish, haughty way ; and, although 


202 Her Bright Future . 

her cutting words made him burn with anger, he 
controlled himself. 

“ Katherine,” he said at last, “ I can not give 
you up. You are unjust to me. You know it is 
my love for you, which makes me dread to hear 
the slightest word against your name. I wish you 
would listen to reason, but if you will not, and 
insist upon going West, do not let us part in anger. 
Katherine, your cold looks make me wretched. 
You are nervous — worn out with grief. Think 
the matter over calmly. Remember, whichever 
way you decide, I will not take back the ring. ,, 

She looked at him earnestly. “Frank,” she 
said at last, very gently, “you are right; we 
must not part in anger. I am hardly myself to- 
day, I have suffered so much ; but there is one 
thing of which I wish to speak. Should my 
brother be proven guilty, what then? Do you 
think I could allow myself to enter an honorable 
family un welcomed ? Do you think I would per- 
mit you to keep a promise made under such differ- 
ent circumstances ? Never ! We shall always be 
friends, I trust ; but, husband and wife, never ! 
I shall always think of this Summer, and of you. 
I was very lonely and sad when I came here, and 


Blood is Thicker than Water. 203 

you were kind to me ; but it is best that we 
should say good-bye now. I am right !” 

He looked at her keenly. A gleam of jealous 
suspicion was in his eyes. 

“Very well; it shall be as you wish.” He 
took back the ring, and said : “ It is time the bauble 
was broken or lost — out of the way some- 
where.” 

They were standing near a little brook, that 
ran through the lower end of the garden ; and, 
before she could prevent him, he had taken the 
ring from her outstretched hand, and thrown it 
in the water. 

“ See,” he said, watching with a gloomy face 
the waters, as they bubbled over the trinket, “ it 
has vanished — like my hopes of future happiness. 
I wish I could cast aside memory as easily. I am 
no fool, Katherine Seymour. I have see^ Barron 
follow your every motion, with eyes which poorly 
concealed his love. I half believe you have de- 
ceived me all along. You grow pale, even now, 
at the mention of his name. Curse him ! how 
dare he come between us ? ” 

“ Mr. Challoner, I have given you credit for 
being a gentleman. Take care that you do not 


204 


Her Bright Future. 


forfeit my opinion. It is your own pride that has 
come between us.” 

“Well, I will say no more,” he replied. 
“ Good-bye ! I must go. I only offend you more, 
the longer I stay. God bless you. Remember, 
you carry with you my troth — and — love.” 


Guilty , or NoL 


205 


CHAPTER XXII. 

GUILTY, OB NOT. 

“To that last nothing under earth.** 

It was a cloudy, melancholy day when they 
buried Alfred Seymour ; yet many were present 
at the funeral. He had been widely known, and 
in earlier days had won many friends. 

Mrs. Seymour wore a heavy black veil, which 
entirely concealed her face. As the last solemn 
words of the burial service ended she shuddered, 
and leaning heavily upon her aged father, burst 
into sobs of uncontrollable grief. 

Her manner excited much sympathy. “ Poor 
creature ! ” said people who had hitherto looked 
upon this sly and crafty woman with dislike. 
“How badly she feels! It is no wonder — such 
a fearful death. And by his only son. Shot 
down without a moment’s warning.” 

And now that Alfred Seymour was dead, peo- 
ple kindly forgot his faults, and talked of his 


206 Her Bright Future. 

pleasant, genial maimers, his kindness and gen- 
erosity. 

“ He was thoroughly a gentleman in most 
things,” they said. “Drinking too much was his 
only failing.” 

Vehement and loud were the denunciations of 
Tom. 

“The young villain ought to suffer the extreme 
penalty of the law.” “We must make an exam- 
ple of him,” said many. 

Perhaps Alfred Seymour was not so respon- 
sible for his wasted life, and the sorrow it had 
brought upon his family, as might appear. Who 
can tell the temptations resisted, or the anguish 
that haunted this struggling soul, before it suc- 
cumbed? No doubt his intemperance was the 
fatal inheritance from some wild and reckless 
ancestor. 

Katherine and her uncle had arrived at Linden 
Center. They found Helen in deep distress about 
Tom. They visited him in prison the day after 
their arrival. Katherine sobbed as though her 
heart would break when they met. 

Tom was a tall, slender youth of seventeen. 
His complexion was lighter than Katherine’s, but 


Guilty , or Not. 


207 


he had the same deep brown eyes, and her singu- 
larly pleasant smile. He had an innocent look in 
his face, much like the expression of a bewildered 
child. Katherine threw her arms around him as 
she had done in girlhood. 

“ Tom, dear Tom,” she said, “ I know you are 
innocent, no matter what they say ; and we will 
save you ! ” 

The poor boy was so touched by her confidence 
in him, and kindness, and so unnerved by the ter- 
rible strain of the past few days, that he would 
have utterly broken down only for his Seymour 
pride. He turned away his face, and brushed 
aside the tears hastily. 

“ Now tell us all about this sad affair. We are 
your friends, my boy,” said Mr. Seymour, kindly. 
“We came here to help you; you need not fear 
to trust us.” 

“Well, sir,” said Tom, “I will tell you all; 
but most of it is as much a mystery to me as to 
you. Father, you know, had sold his farm to Mr. 
Dalgren, of New York.” 

“Sold the farm!” said Katherine, “I had not 
heard of that.” 

“ This Mr. Dalgren,” continued Tom, “ came 


208 


Her Bright Future, 


West on a sporting tour ; and he took such a fan- 
cy to the little lake lying east of the house, that 
he concluded to build a Summer cottage near it, 
where he could bring his friends during the shoot- 
ing season. Thousands of wild ducks and geese 
visit this pond every year, on their way South. 
He first thought of building a house on the shore; 
but the ground is marshy around there, so one 
day he came to our place and asked father to sell 
him the eastern half of the farm. Father said he 
would not sell half the farm upon any terms ; but 
that he would sell him the whole for forty thou- 
sand dollars. Well, Mr. Dalgren accepted the 
offer. He is very wealthy, and the place just 
suited him, being wild and secluded. The day 
before my father was shot, the sale was concluded, 
and the purchase money paid. I saw it counted 
out myself. 

“ The next day, father said he would deposit 
the money in the bank at Elgin, for a few 
weeks. He intended going to California, as soon 
as he completed his arrangements, and buy a 
ranche ; he felt uneasy about keeping the money in 
the house, though my step-mother wanted him to 
leave it with her. She said it would be as safe in 


Guilty , or Not. 209 

the house as in the bank. Father would not listen 
to her, and went to Elgin, taking the money with 
him. He was gone all day. About eleven o’clock 
in the evening he came home, badly intoxicated. 
He called for me to come and take care of the 
horses. I saw that he was quarrelsome, and tried 
to avoid him ; but while I was feeding the horses 
he came out and began to abuse me, calling me 
hard names, and swearing until my blood ran 
cold. He seemed like a demon that night. I 
presume he had been drinking all day, and was 
crazy. 

“ Finally, he came up behind me, sly as a cat, 
and seized me by the throat. His grasp was like 
a vice. I thought, for a moment, that he 
would never let me go till the breath had 
left my body. I struggled, and at last man- 
aged to give him a kick, which made him let go. 
He did not touch me after that, but said I was a 
plucky chap, and must go in and drink with him. 
I promised my mother, on her death-bed, that I 
would never drink a drop of whisky, and I have 
kept my promise; I used to pretend to drink 
with him, and, when he was not looking, would 

pour the liquor out. 

O 


2 10 


Her Bright Future . 

44 We went into the house; father asked for 
the bottle of brandy he had brought home with 
him. He had called my step-mother and Lyddy 
up, and Lyddy was getting him some supper. It 
was then about half-past eleven. He began look- 
ing for his bottle of brandy, and when he could 
not find it, was fearfully angry, and accused my 
step-mother of hiding it from him. She denied 
having seen it, and told him I must have taken it 
from the buggy when he first came home. Then 
he turned savagely, and was coming toward me 
with clenched fist. I had been nearly choked to 
death once that night, I had worked hard all day, 
and knew that I should be kept up nearly all 
night, so I was desperate. I faced him, and look- 
ing him full in the eye, said : 4 Father, if you 

choke me again, or lay your hands on me, take 
care ; I am armed, and shall defend myself.’ The 
pistol was locked in my trunk up stairs ; and I 
only said I was armed to frighten him, and make 
him let me alone. He did not trouble me any 
more, and after drinking some strong coffee, be- 
came a little sober. About midnight I saw him 
retire. I was so tired that I fell asleep very soon. 
I must have been asleep several hours, when I 


Guilty , or Not. 


21 I 


was awakened by the report of a pistol. I jumped 
out of bed, rushed down stairs, and into my 
father’s bed-room, and found him lying upon the 
floor — dead. I was so shocked and terrified 
by the sight, that my first impulse was to 
run for help. I did not even lift him up. 
I scarcely knew what I did, for I had been 
aroused from a sound sleep. My room was in 
the garret ; and it must have taken me only a 
few minutes to run down stairs, and into father’s 
room ; as I came out of his room, I met my step- 
mother. She was very pale, and hastily dressed 
in a loose dressing-gown. 4 Oh ! Tom,’ she cried, 
‘ what has happened ? Did you fire that pistol ? ’ 
I tokiher that I did not; that some one had shot 
father. Then I ran over to Steinberg’s — the 
tenant who lives nearest our house — and when I 
came back with him, I found my step-mother cry- 
ing, and telling Lyddy Morehouse how she had 
met me coming out of father’s room. 

“ 4 Oh,’ said Lyddy, ‘ how ever could you have 
done such an awful deed, Master Tom?’ 

“ ‘ Great Heavens ! ’ I cried, 4 do you accuse 
me of shooting father ? Why, Lyddy, I know no 
more about it than you do.* 


212 Her Bright Future. 

“ She picked up the pistol from the floor. I had 
not noticed it before. I saw in a moment it was 
the one I had borrowed from Will Daley a few 
days previous. I got it to practice shooting at a 
target. 

“ ‘ Why, how did this come here, Lyddy ? * I 
said. 

“ 4 You brought it yourself, Tom,’ said my step- 
mother, but she did not look at me when she said 
so. Then Steinberg went for a doctor, and Lyd- 
dy and I lifted father and placed him on the bed. 
Lyddy brought water, and we opened his shirt 
and bathed the wound. My step-mother did not 
offer to touch him, saying the sight of blood 
made her faint ; so she went to her own .room. 
Soon after they arrested me, and brought me 
here. God knows I am innocent; but things 
look badly, I admit.” 

While telling his story, Tom had looked his 
hearers frankly in the face. Now he turned to 
Katherine, who looked sad and discouraged. 
“ But I think I shall be cleared, for all that,” he 
said, trying to encourage her. 

Mr. Seymour, who had watched every expres- 
sion of the boy's ingenuous face, laid a kindly 


Guilty , or Not . 


213 


hand upon Tom’s shoulder. “ Yes, you shall be 
cleared, my boy, if innocence, skill and money 
are of any avail. I believe every word you have 
told me. Your’s is not the face of a liar or villain. 
The real murderer of your father is not very fai 
away, mark my words ! and if there is any justice 
in the country, it shall be obtained.” Mr. Sey- 
mour looked stern as he said this ; then a sudden 
thought came to him, he turned to Tom eagerly : 
“Was the forty thousand dollars which youi 
father received for his farm placed in the bank ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I have heard nothing about 
the money,” was the answer. 

“ Of course not ; and when we find where the 
money is, we shall have a clue to the mystery. I 
don’t believe we shall find it at the bank, but will 
make inquiry to-morrow. It is strange Mrs. Sey- 
mour makes no inquiry about the money — very 
strange.” 

“ Yes,” said Helen, “ it is strange, for she loves 
money better than most people. She comes of a 
family noted for their avarice.” 

“ I am sorry to leave you, dear brother,” said 
Katherine, as they prepared to depart; “but I 
will come often, and the next time, will bring 


2 1 4 Her Bright Future . 

you some books. What books shall I bring 
you ? ” 

Tom pondered a while. “ I have only read 
part of Robinson Crusoe. Probably you haven’t 
that book.” 

“ No,” said Katherine, smiling at his selection. 

“ Oh, you may smile,” he said. “ Perhaps 
you think I have only read novels, but you are 
mistaken. I commenced to read Robinson Crusoe 
nearly three years ago, and when I had read it 
about half through, my step-mother burned it. 
But I like other books, too. You may bring me 
Abbott’s Life of Napoleon. I like to read the 
lives of great men.” 

“ You shall have both books,” said Katherine. 

Then they left him ; but their visit had 
cheered him wonderfully. He whistled softly to 
himself for a long time after their departure — 
something he had not attempted before, since 
coming into that gloomy place. 

Soon after her arrival in the West, Katherine 
received a long letter from Challoner, and a short 
one from Barron. Challoner’s letter was tender 
and contrite — admitting that he had been wrong 
in advising her to abandon her brother ; declaring 


Guilty , or Not 


215 


it was his great love for her that prompted him. 
He finished by saying he should not give her up 
because of their foolish quarrel, and that he alone 
was to be blamed. 

“ I find I can not live without you,” he wrote, 
“and, as soon as Commencement Week is over, I 
shall go to you. I desire to be near you during 
your brother’s trial, to help you if I can.” 

She read his letter with a half-sad smile. The 
day before her departure from the “ Maples,” he 
had allowed her to get a glimpse of a cowardly vein 
in his character, and she could not forget it, no 
matter how many tender epithets he might write. 

She opened the other letter with some curios- 
ity. The handwriting was not a familiar one, but 
the post-mark made her heart beat fast. She 
hoped it might be from Barron. It was not a long 
letter ; simply an earnest expression of his sym- 
pathy with her in this time of trial, and offering 
to defend her brother. 

Quiet and formal as the letter seemed, her 
heart was lighter after reading it than it had been 
for weeks. 

“ Now I believe there is such a thing as unsel- 
fish love,” she murmured, as she tenderly folded 


2 I 6 


Bright Future. 


the letter and put it away with her treasures. 
She could now give up all anxiety about the de- 
tense of her brother, if Barron undertook it. He 
was already famous for the skill he had shown in 
several important criminal cases. 

Katherine went immediately to her uncle, and 
told him of Barron’s offer. Looking keenly at her 
face, a sudden light broke in upon his mind. 
“ Ah ! ” he said to himself, “so the wind blows in 
that direction, does it?” then added aloud to his 
niece : “ I call it very noble in him, offering to 
come so far to defend a poor boy whom he has 
never seen. I intended to engage Mr. Lawrence, 
the celebrated lawyer from Chicago ; but if Bar- 
ron undertakes the case, I shall have no fears 
about Tom. I presume he will be here soon, in 
order to study the matter carefully, before the 
trial. I will write to him to-day. By the way, 
I have inquired about that money, and find it was 
never deposited in the bank. Your father must 
have taken it home with him.” 


The Tide Turns 


217 


CHAPTER XXIII 

THE TIDE TUBNS. 

" And circumstance, that unspirituAJ <3od." 

When court week came, Steinberg, Mrs. Sey- 
mour and Lyddy Morehouse appeared before the 
grand jury, and gave in their evidence. A bill 
of indictment was found against Thomas Sey- 
mour, and a few days later he was arraigned for 
trial. 

The court-room was crowded. The case had 
created great excitement in the surrounding 
county — partly because the accused was so 
young, and partly because the crime attrbuted 
to him was such an unnatural one. 

Tom was conducted into the court - room. 
When Katherine saw the handcuffs clasped round 
his slender wrists, she burst into tears. Her 
uncle endeavored to calm her, though the proud 
blood crimsoned his own fine face, at the sight of 

a Seymour in handcufik 

10 


2 1 8 


Her Bright Future, 


“Now, don’t you cry, Katherine,” he said. 
“Barron told me he had strong hopes of proving 
the boy innocent.” 

Barron had arrived at Linden Center a week 
before the trial, and worked night and day, subpoe- 
naing witnesses, and examining each minute cir- 
cumstance connected with the case. He took a 
deep interest in Tom — perhaps, because the 
lad so closely resembled Katherine ; and then, 
an act of kindness draws us toward the one 
on whom it is bestowed. Besides, he had a 
conviction that the boy was innocent — there 
was something so transparently honest about 
Tom Seymour’s countenance, that it required a 
very suspicious nature to believe him acting a 
part. 

The prosecuting attorney, an ambitious, wasp- 
ish little man, sneered considerably at Barron’s 
youthful appearance. 

“ I guess he has about finished reading Black- 
stone,” observed the prosecuting attorney. Be- 
fore the trial ended he was convinced Barron had 
read other books. 

The first day was spent in discussing objections 
raised by defendant’s counsel, as to the indict- 


The Tide Turns. 219 

raent;* next forenoon, the examination of wit- 
nesses commenced. 

Mrs. Seymour was first sworn. She was sub- 
dued in manner, and looked exceedingly meek 
and sorrowful. When she took the stand, there 
was a hum of excited expectation, followed by al- 
most breathless silence, as in her clear, cold voice 
ihe gave her testimony. 

It was a concise, consistent, and perfectly con- 
nected statement; fatally clear, thought the 
friends of the poor lad; there seemed to be no 
malice in the manner she spoke of him. Once or 
twice, before relating any thing pointedly against 
him, she raised her eyes toward Heaven, 
as if asking Divine assistance that she might 
tell the exact truth, when it must necessarily 
be such an injury to Tom. “For I love my 
poor husband’s son,” she said, as though apolo- 
gizing for her reluctance to testify against 
him. These little tricks were quite effec- 
tive in causing some of the spectators to pity 
her. 

“ Only think,” said a stout lady , with a moth- 
erly face, “how hard it must be for the poor 
thing to testify against her dead husband’s only 


220 Her Bright Future* 

son. I do pity her. What should I do if my Rob 
was in his place to-day ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered her companion, a sour look- 
ing spinster, “ and just see how cool the young 
villain looks, and his step-mother trying so hard 
to shield him, too. I hope she will have grit 
enough to do her duty, and bring the guilty to 
punishment, in spite of her feelings. I s’pose them 
Seymours will try to get a pardon from the Guv- 
’nor. They are a dreadful lofty, proud feelin’ 
set ; it would nearly kill ’em to have one of their 
race convicted of such a crime. But I guess the 
Seymour name won’t stand for much when this 
’ere trial is over.” Miss Cark smiled maliciously. 

It certainly looked dark for poor Tom. Mrs. 
Seymour stated that Tom had threatened, in her 
presence, to shoot his father ; that he had been 
moody and dissatisfied for a long time, even vio- 
lent when thwarted ; that he had frequently 
threatened to take her life ; that he had borrowed 
a pistol a few weeks previous to his father’s 
death, and had diligently practiced shooting at a 
mark ; that she feared he might be meditating 
some revenge upon his father then, as the late 
Mr. Seymour had sometimes punished the boy se- 


The Tide Turns. 221 

verely for lying; that she (witness) once ques- 
tioned the prisoner regarding the pistol, asking 
why he practiced shooting at a mark ; he had 
answered her very gruffly, saying, with a pecu- 
liarly wicked expression upon his face, that he 
“ meant to be able to bring down a pigeon the 
very first shot, or any thing else.” 

A shudder convulsed her frame as, with strong 
emphasis, she repeated these words. The prison- 
er started at this last statement, as if surprised, 
then flushed and attempted to speak ; but a kind 
look from Barron silenced him, and he listened 
patiently to the remainder of Mrs. Seymour’s tes- 
timony, though he trembled, and grew red and 
pale by turns. 

The witness further stated that, upon the night 
of the murder, she -slept soundly until aroused by 
the report of a pistol, fired, evidently, in the room 
next to her bed-room ; that she arose, and going 
into her husband’s room, found him lying upon 
the floor, with the blood flowing from a wound in 
his breast ; there was a pistol lying near the dying 
man, and Tom was just leaving the room. 

At this point the pistol found in the room was 
produced, and Mrs. Seymour, after examining it, 


222 Her Bright Future. 

swore that it was the same Tom had borrowed of 
a neighbor, and used in his target practice. 

Barron then commenced the cross-examina- 
tion. During the previous testimony he had 
watched her closely. Indeed, he had hardly al- 
lowed his eyes to wander from her countenance 
during the hour in which she had been giving in 
her fatal evidence ; and now there was not a line 
in that cruel, mask-like face, which he had not 
studied carefully. He was convinced that he had 
to deal with no ordinary character, and the con- 
centration of his mind made his face very stern 
as his grave piercing eyes were bent upon her. 

Mrs. Seymour trembled and seemed to shrink 
beneath their steady gaze. His first few ques- 
tions, however, were very trifling, easily and 
promptly answered. The witness regained her 
composure ; and Katherine, who had expected so 
much when Barron should commence the exam- 
ination, was disheartened. 

The counsel for the State smiled contemptu- 
ously. 

Barron continued his cross-examination. He 
succeeded in his design;- it was to throw Mrs. 
Seymour off her guard by an apparently feeble 


The Tide Turns . 223 

course. The Court began to manifest impatience 
at this waste of time. Suddenly there was silence 
as Barron abandoned his mask of aimlessness, and 
leaning forward, asked : “ What was done with 

the forty thousand dollars your late husband 
received for his farm the day before his 
death?” 

Even Katherine, who had a slight idea of his 
course, started, nervously, as this question was 
asked. The face of the witness was livid. She 
had been completely thrown off her guard by the 
previous questions, and this sudden and direct in- 
quiry sounded like a demand. 

She swallowed, and her voice sounded husky 
and strange as she answered: “I have no knowl- 
edge where the money is.” 

A smile of triumph, slight but significant, 
passed over Barron’s pale face at her answer. 
She saw she had committed herself, and grew 
deadly ]Dale. He followed up his advantage. 

“ I did not ask if you knew where the money 
is at present,” he said ; “ I asked what was done 
with the money.” 

“I do not know what was done with the 
money.” 


224 Her Bright Future. 

“ What did Mr. Seymour do with the money 
when he received it from Mr. Dalgren ? ” 

“ He carried it to Elgin, with the intention of 
placing it in the bank.” 

“ Are you sure Mr. Seymour carried it to 
Elgin?” 

“Yes, I am sure he carried it to Elgin.” 

“ Have you made any inquiries about the 
money since your husband’s death?” 

“ None — whatever.” 

“ Have you received any information concern- 
ing the money since your husband’s death?” 

“ I have not.” 

“So you solemnly swear, madam, thac you 
have not made any attempt to discover where Mr. 
Seymour left that forty thousand dollars ? ” 

“ In the midst of this terrible grief and afflic- 
tion, would I be heartless enough to think about 
money ? ” 

“Yes, madam, you would — you are a person 
likely to think a great deal about money, even in 
the midst of your great grief.” 

“ I appeal to the Court for protection. I did 
not come here to be insulted.” 

“ Madam, I beg your pardon. No insult was 


The Tide Turns. 225 

intended. So you swear that you have made no 
inquiries about that money ? ” 

“ I have made no inquiries about the money, 
and have received no information concerning 
it.” 

“ Then, of course, you suppose it to be deposi- 
ted in the bank of Elgin ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But you said, a few minutes since, that you 
had no knowledge where this money may be. 
That can hardly be true, if you saw your husband 
take the money and start for Elgin, intending to 
deposit it in the bank there.” 

“ Must I stay here and be insulted ? I can 
* not see that the money has any thing to do with 
this trial at which I am a witness.” 

The Court — “Witness, you need not give 
your opinions on such important points. You are 
here to answer any and all questions which the 
counsel may ask.” 

Mrs. Seymour raises her eyes toward the ceil- 
ing, and presses her hand to her heart. 

“Very well, madam,” said Barron, “as this 
subject seems to be an unpleasant one to you, we 
will change it. Were your relations with your 
10* P 


226 Her Bright Future. 

late husband of a pleasant and harmonious na- 
ture’” 

“ Oh, yes ; we never quarrelled, and I loved my 
husband very much. Sometimes, when he had 
been drinking, he was quite violent ; but I never 
blamed him for that, for liquor changes the best 
natures.” 

“ I suppose you never tried to thwart his 
will?” 

“Never I” 

“ Did you poison one of your late husband’s 
favorite horses, on the fifth of August, to prevent 
him going to Elgin ? ” 

“Never! The horse was sick from over-eat- 
ing.” 

“ Does your medicinal knowledge extend to 
the diseases of horses as well as the human 
family ? ” 

“ I can not endure these insults.” 

Here she looked around the court-room ap- 
pealingly ; but met with little sympathy. There 
had been suddenly a curious change of opinion in 
the minds of many of the spectators. The few 
sharp questions about that forty thousand dollars 
had done the work well; and the blackening 


The Tide Turns . 


227 


cloud of suspicion which had hung over Tom Sey- 
mour was settling upon the woman who had 
striven to procure his conviction. She looked 
very pale, and complained of feeling faint, where- 
upon the Court excused her for a time. Stein- 
berg, the German tenant, was called to the stand. 
His testimony was substantially the same as Tom 
Seymour’s, regarding the time the latter aroused 
him on the night of the murder, and what fol- 
lowed. 

Being questioned as to whether Mr. and Mrs. 
Seymour had lived together happily, he stated 
that he called at Mr. Seymour’s house a few days 
previous to his death, on an errand, and found 
husband and wife quarreling. He saw Mrs. Sey- 
mour hurl a flat-iron at her husband upon several 
occasions. 

This caused much laughter in the court-room. 

Finally, Lyddy Morehouse was called. She 
stated that she slept in a little room, partitioned 
off the garret where Tom slept; that she was 
awakened from sleep by the report of a pistol, 
and hastily dressing herself, ran down stairs; 
and that she met Tom and Mrs. Seymour coming 
from the murdered man’s apartment. 


228 Her Bright Future. 

Being further examined, she testified that on 
the night of the murder, she heard Tom tell his 
father to keep his hands off, as he was armed, and 
should defend himself ; but knew that Tom only 
said this to prevent his father abusing him, as he 
was in the habit of doing, when intoxicated. 

The witness further stated that the deceased 
was sometimes very cruel to Tom, and that Mrs. 
Seymour encouraged her husband in abusing the 
boy, telling him he must break the boy’s spirit, or 
he would be sorry some day. 

Witness stated that she never heard Tom 
threaten to kill any one. He was very tender- 
hearted. She had known him to sit up all night 
with sick animals. She had never known a more 
conscientious boy than Tom, and she had known 
him ever since he was a baby. 

Here she began to sob bitterly. After a strug- 
gle, she regained her composure sufficiently to 
to give intelligent answers, and the trial contin- 
ued. 

“Did you see Mr. Seymour take the money, 
which he received for his farm, the day he went 
to Elgin ? ” 

“Yea.” 


The Tide Turns . 


229 

“ Did you see the money after his return from 
Elgin ? ” 

“ No, I did not.” 

“ Did you hear any one allude to the money 
after Mr. Seymour’s return ? ” 

“No; I did not hear any one allude to the 
money, after Mr. Seymour’s return from Elgin.” 

“ How was Mrs. Seymour dressed on the night 
her husband was shot ? ” 

“ In a loose gown of gray print.” 

“Can witness identify the dress, if she sees 
it?” 

“Yes, am sure I can.” 

“ Has Mrs. Seymour worn that gown since the 
murder ? ” 

“ No. She has not worn it since.” 

• “ Where is the gown now ? ” 

“At home, in Mrs. Seymour’s closet.” 

“Did Mrs. Seymour go near the murdered 
man, in the presence of the witness ?” 

“No ; she did not go near him until he was in 
his coffin ; she said that the sight of blood made 
her feel very faint.” 

Witness was told no more would be required 
of her for the present. 


230 Her Bright Future* 

The attorney for the defense petitioned the 
court that he might be allowed to send the sheriff 
with Lyddy, to the residence of Mrs. Seymour, 
for the gown the latter had worn on the night of 
Mr. Seymour’s death. 

The petition was granted, and court adjourned 
for the day. 

The proceedings became exciting. Opinion 
toward Tom had changed; and yet, as Barron 
walked home that evening, his heart sank within 
him when he thought of the great responsibility 
resting upon him — the terrible effect upon Kath- 
erine, if Tom was not acquitted. 

The day’s work had been wearying, and little 
had been gained. The success of his next move 
hung on a very slender thread. He had sent for 
Mrs. Seymour’s gown, in desperate hope; but 
next day proved its fallacy. 

The cashier of the bank at Elgin was called, 
and testified that no money had been deposited in 
that bank by Mr. Seymour. 

A saloon keeper was called next, and testified 
that Mr. Seymour left his saloon about nine 
o’clock the evening he was shot, and started 
toward home. Just before leaving, he had taken 


The Tide Turns . 


231 

a very large sum of money from his pocket, and 
offered to buy him [witness] out. 

Witness further stated that Mr. Seymour 
handed him several rolls of hundred-dollar bills, 
and that when he gave them back, Mr. Seymour 
put the money in his pocket. This statement was 
also sworn to by several men who were in the 
saloon at the time. 

Witness further stated, that fearing Mr. Sey- 
mour might lose his money, as he had been drink- 
ing quite freely, and was very careless with it, 
he had assisted him to secure the money by fast- 
ening the opening of his pocket with several 
large pins. 

This statement was sworn to by three other 
men. The general opinion was that Mr. Seymour 
had the money with him on the night of his 
death ; but nothing new of importance had been 
brought to light. The stubborn facts remained 
that Tom was seen coming from his father’s room 
after the report of the pistol ; that he had quar- 
relled with his father on the night of the murder ; 
that the pistol found near Mr. Seymour was the 
one Tom had in his possession. What could be 
done? 


232 Her Bright Fit hire. 

The little family at Linden Center were in 
great grief, and despair was settling upon the 
hearts of the most hopeful, as time passed and 
no clue could be found to the mystery. 

Never had Barron so concentrated his energy 
upon a case, as on this. Never had he worked 
with such untiring zeal. He permitted no cir- 
cumstance, even the most trivial, to escape ex- 
amination ; the details of the tragedy were in 
his mind all day, and haunted him at night. 

Sometimes he would think he had discovered 
a clue, and he would follow it up eagerly, to find 
it led only to emptiness. At times he would al- 
most doubt Tom. Once he went to the poor boy, 
and advised him to tell all and plead guilty. 
Tom’s honest brown eyes filled with big tears at 
this advice. 

/ 

“ So you think I am lying, do you, Mr. Bar- 
ron. Well, if you have given me up, I suppose 
there is no hope for me. ‘ Confess all ! ’ Why, 
Mr. Barron, I have confessed all. I did not shoot 
my father. I have told you God’s truth. They 
may hang me if they want to, but I shall not die 
with a lie upon my lips and so the conversa- 
tion ended. 


The Tide Turns. 


233 


The trial was drawing to a close, and all felt 
as though the verdict would be a severe one for 
Tom. But light appeared most unexpectedly 
through the influence of a French woman, the 
wife of a tenant upon the Seymour estate. 

Celestine Antoine, the wife of Hypolyte An- 
toine, was a good woman, and a faithful daughter 
of the Roman Catholic church ; too good for Hyp- 
olyte, who was a great, muscular savage, part 
brute and part fool, with just enough cunning to 
render him dangerous. He had been in America 
only a few years, when he came to Mr. Seymour 
for land to work. 

Mr. Seymour being in a good-natured mood, 
did not enquire about his character, and let him 
have a few acres of land. Afterward, he dis- 
covered the man was dismissed from the farm 
he rented the year previous, for stealing. But 
the papers had been signed, and the man’s crops 
were in the ground ; so Mr. Seymour was obliged 
to make the best of it. 

Mrs. Seymour was so avaricious that she 
closely watched Antoine, fearing an ear of corn, 
or a few grains of wheat, should be stolen. It 
embittered her very existence ; she threatened 


234 Her Bright Future . 

Hypolyte with instant dismissal from the land, 
imprisonment, even death, if he should ever be 
found taking any thing from the place. 

But the habits of a life-time are not easily 
changed ; and although Mrs. Seymour’s threats 
frightened Hypolyte exceedingly, the well-filled 
crib which stood near the barn was too tempting ; 
but he was exceedingly cautious. 

He was owner of three large Chester White 
hogs, which were dearer to him than wife or child. 
He had given each a name, and would stand 
for hours after work contemplating them with 
doting eyes. 

The evening of the tragedy Hypolyte had 
rubbed down his pets with unusual care, and 
bedded them with clean straw. Then he stood 
gazing at them for a long time. He shook his 
head despondently, several times, and looked 
wistfully toward Mr. Seymour’s corn-crib. 

“ Ah, mes pauvres” he sighed, “ thou dost 
not get corn enough, and yonder there is plenty 
and a wicked look came into his dull eyes. “ Ah, 
moil Felix, thou art very poor;’ , then he walked 
away, shaking his head, and muttering. 

About half an hour after the clock in Hjrpo- 


Tiie T ide Turns . 


235 


lyte’s little hut had struck two, the great burly 
fellow came out of the back door, with an empty 
sack slung over his shoulder. He crept stealthi- 
ly back of Mr. Seymour’s house, toward the corn- 
crib ; when opposite Mrs. Seymour’s room, which 
had windows reaching nearly to the ground, Hyp- 
olyte paused at seeing a light in the house at so 
late an hour. He instantly concluded that Mrs, 
Seymour was sitting up to watch his movements. 
He had a superstitious dread of her ; he thought 
she had divined his intended raid upon the crib. 
This made him shudder. “C’est le dialled he 
muttered, starting to go home without his booty ; 
but his thievish instincts were strong, and by the 
time he walked back to his pig-pen, he was 
ashamed of his terror. 

The light was probably burning because some 
one was sick ; so, creeping cautiously back, he 
paused again opposite Mrs. Seymour’s window. 
The curtain was down, but did not quite reach 
the sill. 

Hypolyte dropped upon his knees, and crept 
stealthily to the window. Hearing no noise, he 
ventured to look in. The sight that met his eyes 
convinced him that his worst apprehensions were 


236 Her Bright Future . 

correct. He did not wait for a second look, but 
started for his hut at a break-neck speed. 

He burst into his wife’s presence, breathless 
and pale. 

“ And what hast thou seen then ? ” cried Celes- 
tine. “ Men who go abroad to take what is not 
their own, often see terrible sights, Hypolyte.” 

Good, honest Celestine did not approve her 
husband’s depredations, and lost no opportunity 
of giving him a gentle rebuke ; but Hypolyte 
could only shake his head and gasp: “ C’estle 
diable I ” 

After a few moments he said solemnly : “ Ce- 
lestine, rejoice that thy husband was not mur- 
dered in cold blood. Ah, she would have shot me 
through the heart — I know it well — and all for 
a few poor ears of corn. Mon pauvre Felix must 
still go hungry.” And then he told his wife how 
he had seen a light in Mrs. Seymour’s room, and 
creeping up, looked in the window, and saw Mrs. 
Seymour, dressed in a loose gown. But what 
terrified Hypolyte was the pistol she held in her 
hand. She was apparently examining it, and 
Hypolite, recalling her threats, supposed she was 


The Tide Turns . 237 

loading it, to follow him to the crib and deliber- 
ately shoot him. 

Celestine was nearly sick with sorrow and 
fear, when she heard of Tom’s arrest. She liked 
the boy, as did all the retainers of the place. She 
implored her husband to go to Mrs. Gaylord, and 
tell her what he had seen that night; but he 
refused. 

44 So, imbecile, thou wouldst ruin thy husband 
with thy folly, wouldst thou ? ” was his reply to 
her appeal. “What if I tell? Then they will 
ask me why I was at the window so late at night, 
and will send me to prison for a thief. I shall be 
ruined — lost I ” 

Selfish fear kept them silent ; but one day 
Celestine heard Tom would be hung if no new 
testimony in his favor was found. In an agony 
of fear, shame and penitence, she went to the 
priest at Linden Center, and told her story. 
Good Father St. Croix commanded her to go to 
Mrs. Gaylord, and confess all. So, one afternoon, 
as the two sisters were alone, weeping and pray- 
ing over their brother’s fate, Celestine came to 
them, with sobs, and told her story. They sent 


238 Her Bright Future. 

for Barron immediately. He lost no time in sub* 
pcenaing Hypolyte Antoine. 

His testimony was deliverance. 

This poor, ignorant, French peasant had been 
the means of saving the life of an innocent boy, 
and the members of an honorable family, from 
grief and shame. 

In summing up the evidence, Mr. Barron dis- 
played unusual clearness and power. When he 
closed his plea, there was breathless silence in the 
crowded court-room, and tears stood in eyes 
which had not wept for years. 

Tom Seymour was acquitted, and there were 
many thankful hearts in Linden Center that 
night. 

Although Tom was free, the matter was not 
ended. Mrs. Seymour was arrested. But there 
came a summons from a higher court. The in- 
tense excitement had so wrecked her nerves, that 
the jailor found her one day with helpless limbs, 
glaring, beseeching eyes, and a tongue that re- 
fused to speak. She had been stricken with 
paralysis. She lingered only a short time. Before 
death, she recovered her power of speech suffi- 
ciently to whisper a full confession to the minister 


The Tide Turns . 239 

who sat at her bedside. She also told where the 
money was hidden. She expected to take it with 
her to California, after the trial. 

Not even a shadow of guilt now rested upon 
Tom, and Edward Seymour went joyously back 
to his history of the Seymour family. 

Frank Challoner sent a long, loving letter to 
Katherine, congratulating her upon her brother’s 
acquittal. Cousin Azariah took a great fancy to 
Tom, and hinted at the possibility of making him 
his heir ; he also advised his being sent to a first- 
class school. Tom now had money of his own with 
which to pay his school bills ; and then, it was 
quite the thing to praise the boy. He was the 
hero of the town. 

Mrs. Fielding wrote to Katherine, begging her 
to make her house in New York her future home, 
saying they all missed her sadly. 

“I always loved Katherine,” said Mrs. Field- 
ing; “she is such an innocent, artless girl. It 
would be well for you to imitate her in some 
things, Sarah.” 

Katherine was now in independent circumstan- 
ces. Her fortune, to be sure, was only moderate ; 
but she had been trained in an economical school, 


240 Her Bright Future. 

and ten thousand dollars was a great deal to her. 
It was freedom from distasteful labor; from the 
wretched feeling of dependency. It gave time and 
means to follow her tastes. She soon found it made 
the wide difference between “ an artful, designing 
creature,” and “ that dear girl, Miss Seymour.” 


A Song of Parting. 


* 4 * 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

▲ BONO Of PABTUJO. 

“If maids be shy, he cures who can; 

But if a man be shy — a man. 

Why then the worse for him.* 

Soon after the trial Barron returned to New 
York. He steadfastly refused to be remunerated 
for leaving his business to defend Tom. He was 
Katherine’s brother — that was sufficient for him. 
True to his fine sense of honor, he had not taken 
advantage of Katherine’s gratitude. Now that 
his work in Linden Center was finished, he found 
that he loved her too well to remain long under 
the same roof without betraying his feelings. 
Therefore he bade her “ good-bye,” saying that 
business of importance called him back to the 
city. 

“ Probably she will be his wife the next time 
I see her,” he said to himself, bitterly. 

He lingered that whole bright Autumn week, 

hoping against hope, that something might occur 
ii Q 


242 Her Bright Future . 

which would make her free. He was too loyal 
to take advantage of Challoner ’s absence, or Kath- 
erine’s gratitude. 

“She knows how deeply I love her,” he 
thought, “and it is all in her hands.” 

He wondered Challoner did not come West 
during the brother’s trial Katherine had not 
told him the state of affairs ; nor had Barron ut- 
tered one loving word to her since that night in 
the garden. 

Katherine, at times, would think it must have 
been a dream. Had he really told her that he 
loved her? His manner toward her since had 
been more like that of a tender, elder brother, 
than of a lover. Ah ! perhaps he had changed 
— perhaps he had repented having made that 
declaration. She longed to have him speak of 
that time, to have some re-assurance of his un- 
changing devotion. She could then tell him why 
Challoner had not come West. It would seem 
unwomanly for her to allude to the subject first. 
She feared it might seem challenging him to a 
new avowal of love. “ He will surely speak 
again,” she said to herself. 

The evening before his departure they were 


243 


A Song of Parting . 

together alone in the parlor. Helen, with kind, 
womanly instinct, divined something of the 
situation, and found an excuse for leaving 
them. 

The radiant sunset was fading away. It was 
twilight. The gloaming whispered like a spirit 
to each yearning heart, of the sorrowful future ; 
the morrow would bring separation. Unconscious- 
ly they drew closer to each other, and for a mo 
ment all barriers seemed broken. Tom rushed 
into the room, bewailing the fact of Mr. Barren’s 
near departure. Fate I 

“ Oh, Mr. Barron ! ” said the boy, “ I thought 
you were going with me to shoot prairie chickens 
some time this week. I’ve just got a first-class 
shot gun, and cleaned up the old one for you” — 
then thinking he hau failed in politeness, some- 
how, by making this speech, he added, apologeti- 
cally — “ Not but what the old one is better than 
nine out of ten” — then noticing that Barron 
made no reply, he feared that he had offended 
him, and continued : “ But of course you are 

welcome to the new one, if you will stay, Mr. 
Ban on; I did not think you would have any 
cnoio* '* 


244 


Her Bright Future. 


“ Don’t you people want lights?” said Helen, 
just then coming in ; and so the tender words re- 
mained unspoken. 

He left Linden Center the following morning ; 
and Mr. Edward Seymour, also, started for the 
East the same day. He urged Katherine to go 
back to New York ; but she had been long parted 
from her brother and sister, and concluded to re- 
main with them during the Winter. 

Soon after Barron left, Helen found a rough 
copy of verses in Katherine’s writing. She read 
them thoughtfully. Her manner toward her sis- 
ter afterward was more than usually kind, even 
pitying. The lines were the expression of pas- 
sionate grief — Katherine’s unhappy love. It was 

▲ SONG OF PARTING. 


The mad, reckless strength of the storm has passed o’er. 

No more that fierce pain in thy bosom abides; 

Like the ebb of the waves from some wreck-covered shore, 
The merciless sea of thy passion subsides ; 

Aye, subsides ; but the ruin so carelessly wrought, 

Shall remain while my life-blood throbs warm in each vein, 
fou but gathered the bloom of the love that you sought, 

And left for my portion, the thorns and the pain. 


2 45 


A Song of Parting . 

That poor little boon of a woman’s fond trust — 

Ah, why did you seek the frail ghost of a joy, 

But to find, at the last, ’twas but ashes and dust; 

Then to fling it away like a child’s broken toy. 

If the proud wish to conquer, thou couldst not restrain, 
Then rejoice and be glad — all opposing is done; 

But the heart must be paltry could boast of such gain, 

Or exult in a victory so cruelly won. 

I’ll not blame thee, or chide thee ; each soul has a room — 

A dark, haunted chamber, all secret and still, 

Where the shades of past actions rise up through the gloom, 
And sad faces of wronged ones flock hither at will. 

In the cold, solemn hours of the long winter night, 

When the fire-light plays low on the shadowy wall, 

Thou shalt gaze on the face that was once thy delight, 

At the door of thy spirit shalt hear a* voice call. 

I have lived it all over — that brief time of bliss — 

Ah, so often in slumber, though broken, still sweet; 

An d have trembled with joy, in my dreams, at your kiss, 
Ajid been sheltered again where I heard your heart beat; 
Then awoke in the darkness, to weep o’er the grief 
Of a heart that forever has lost its one joy, 

And like Rachel of old, finds no hope, or relief, 

While bereft of that gladness you make to destroy. 

Thou hast turned a deaf ear to the words I would speak ; 

Sought to fathom my soul with a plummet and line ; 

Hast pronounced me but shallow and fickle and weak; 
’Gainst the sum of thy judgment I will not repine. 


246 


Her Bright Future. 

’Tis, perhaps, better so, I loved thee too well. 

I have made thee my hero, my king and my all : 

And the stern, solemn words of a sacred book tell 
How most certainly, surely, false idols must fall. 

When over the village, all purely and clear, 

The calm, Autumn moon sheds her beautiful light — 

Best of all vanished scenes that my mem’ry holds dear — 
Shines the sweet, by-gone spell of one far-away night 
Say, dost thou remember? One broad, silvery beam 
Shone full on our faces. Thine eyes, close to mine, 

Seemed to glow with the light of the spirit’s glad dream, 

And to burn with a radiance of love half divine. 

Ah, hadst thou been kinder, no bleak wind of fate, 

No chance, or condition of life, space or time, 

Should have kept my true heart from its one only mate, 

Or restrained my free soul from communion with thine. 
Hadst thou wandered as distant as yon waning star, 

Whose soft glory pierces the curtain of night, 

I’d have followed and found thee, anear or afar, 

And claimed a full share in thy grief or delight 

But ’t is over, and past, as a tale that is told; 

And our life-paths glide onward, forever apart 
’T was a bitter, sweet time ; but the world waxes cold. 

Ah, farewell, and God bless thee wherever thou art! 

Katherine felt that Barron had wronged her 
deeply, in never alluding to the love which he 


247 


A Song of Parting . 

had confessed that night in the garden. Her 
woman’s heart longed for re-assurance ; not 
receiving it, she blushed with shame at her mad 
folly in ever allowing him to talk to her as he 
had, or in permitting so willingly the caresses he 
had lavished upon her then. 

She felt humbled, pained, bewildered; and if, 
in her poem, she exaggerated her wrongs, it is 
not strange. The most ardently loving natures 
are also usually the proudest and most sensitive. 


248 


Her Bright Future, 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE SPECIAL MEETINGS. 

“Double, double, toil and trouble ! * 

It was a quiet Winter for Katherine. 1 *tch 
week a letter came from Challoner, who was with 
his invalid mother in Florida. He carefully 
ignored the fact of any misunderstanding between 
Katherine and himself. His letters were full of 
exquisite descriptions of places they were visiting, 
and tender love for Katharine. Keenly alive to 
the beautiful, his pictures of tropical scenery 
charmed her. 

Still, Katherine had not forgotten Challoner’s 
lack of loyalty during her time of trial. 

The intellectual society of Linden Center 
was rather meager; and longing for congenial 
companionship, she found it no easy matter to 
resist the charm of Challoner’s letters. 

Her former life seemed drifted into the past, 
and with it, her old self. 


The Special Meetings . 249 

Occasionally, a letter came from Lottie, telling 
of balls, new dresses and operas ; but they failed 
to interest her. Barron’s name was rarely men- 
tioned. Once, Lottie spoke of his having become 
a recluse, and working assiduously at his profes- 
sion. Katherine’s love for him was irresistible. 

“I am going North in the Spring,” writes 
Challoner, “ and shall claim my bride.” 

This agitated Katherine, and she decided to 
write him a positive refusal to become his wife. 
When she sits down, her resolution wavers. She 
thinks: “He must love me, or he would never 
write such letters after my treating, him so coldly. 
How hard it is to read men’s hearts ! Perhaps I 
am recklessly refusing the only sincere lover I 
have ever had ! ” 

When the decisive letter was written and re- 
vised, it did not seem so harsh, after all. 

Katherine’s own heart was becoming as great 
a mystery to herself — as others had been ; and, as 
Winter wore away, she became discouraged with 
the puzzle and struggle of life. 

Only once or twice during the season did she 
appear at any evening gatherings. When she 
did, the village belles considered her an intruder, 

IX* 


250 Her Bright Future. 

and never failed to criticise her unkindly. She 
was especially disliked by the elderly unmarried 
ladies of the place. A family of three sisters im- 
posed upon themselves the task of reducing 
Katherine to what they deemed her proper posi- 
tion in the community. There came to Linden 
Center, in its earliest days, from what was then 
the far-off, fabulous East, three sisters — Harriet, 
Jane and Eliza Crocker, spinsters of uncertain 
age — the youngest thirty — the eldest over forty. 
The change of climate seemed to have given 
them a new lease of life. They scolded and gos- 
siped energetically during the whole winter Kath- 
erine spent at Linden. When they came from 
the East, they brought with them several thou- 
sand dollars, which had been saved by the strict- 
est economy. This was quite a fortune in Linden 
at that time, and they were much respected. 

Beside these advantages, they possessed what 
was considered a “ superior education they 
could “ pa’se ” any thing from a child’s primer to 
Pollok’s “ Course of Time.” Cadmus-like they 
had had the honor of introducing letters to Lin- 
den. Miss Harriet had been the first school- 
mistress of the place. She was stern, firm, and 


The Special Meetings . 251 

mathematical ; yet not proof against the wiles of 
Cupid. She surrendered her high calling the 
first Spring, and recklessly became the bride of 
Albert Smith, one of her oldest pupils. 

Mrs. Albert Smith’s sisters lived with her; 
Albert was a flashy young man of convivial dis- 
position. He soon squandered the little fortune 
of his wife and sisters-in-law, drinking and racing 
horses. After this they supported themselves by 
by dress-making. 

Smith was not exactly a fool ; but was cousin- 
germain. His wife and sisters exalted him, 
among themselves, to the position of Sir Oracle. 
“ A1 says so,” settled any question, no matter 
how profound. He accepted all this feminine 
adoration as his due ; and drank, swore and raced 
horses till all was squandered. 

To a person of fine sensibilities it was unbear- 
able to hear their cracked voices, contradicting 
each other every moment, and the snipping of 
their scissors — snip ! — snip I— -snip ! They hated 
Katherine, and when she was the subject of con- 
versation venom was the principal ingredient. 

“ Humph ! Katherine Seymour ! Who is she, 
anyhow?” Miss Jane said. “ Her father was a 


252 


Her Bright Future, 


desperate, drinkin’ character, and she's got his 
disposition, only she covers it up. ‘ Like father, 
like daughter,’ I say. Purty? Don’t tell me 
she’s purty;” snip, snip, snip, go the scissors. 
“ What does rosy cheeks amount to, any way, 
even if she is purty, which I can’t see. Mebby 
she knows how to make ’em red. Mebby mine 
’ud be red if I painted ’em. She couldn’t make 
a fine shirt to save her, and she puts on the airs 
of a queen. Wall, I guess Linden folks ain’t 
afraid on her.” 

Mrs. Smith, just from the wash-tub, with a 
half- wrung towel in her hands, catches the 
conversation, and joins : “ Katherine Seymour, 

eh? Oh, she’s a high flyin’ piece. She went 
right by the house, t’other day, without bowin’, 
just as if we was dirt under her feet. A1 says” — 
here Miss Jane, who had been talking along at an 
even pace, would raise her voice above her 
sister’s. 

Harriet — “ A1 says” — 

Jane, (in a high key)— “I guess folks ’ll 
git sick of runnin’ after Katherine Seymour ’fore 
the year’s out.” 

Harriet, (in a higher key)— “ A1 says he saw 


The Special Meetings . 253 

her walkin’ out with that lawyer chap from New 
York, and ” — 

Jane, (still louder) — “If folks don’t git sick 
of runnin’ after her afore the year’s out, my name 
ain’t Jane Crocker. A1 says” — 

Harriet, (screaming) — A1 says he can swear 
to it that he saw that feller from New York ” — 

A feeble, hollow voice from the door-way 
strikes in; it is Miss Eliza, who squeaks — “ A1 
says he saw” — 

Jane — “ Liza, you go back to the kitchen. I 
smell that meat a burnin’ .” 

Eliza, a forlorn old creature, the eldest of the 
trio, beats a hasty retreat. She is feeble in mind 
and body, and seldom gets beyond “ A1 says,” — 
when her sisters frown her down. She is cook 
and scullery maid at the Smith-Crocker abode. 

Harriet, (continuing) — “He saw that feller 
from New York put his arm around her waist. 
What do ye think of such goin’s on, hey ? ” 

Jane, (poking a large lazy dog with a broom- 
handle) — “ Git out, Spot !” 

The above scene will convey an impression of 
the manner in which these women gossiped about 
Katherine. 


254 


Her Bright Future. 


Helen had been very poorly for a long time, 
and it was with apprehension Katherine saw her 
sister grow daily more feeble. Their mother had 
died of consumption, and Helen suffered from a 
distressing cough. Katherine feared that subtle 
disease might rob her of a sister. She told Mr. 
Gaylord her fears, and he called the family phy- 
sician to examine her lungs. 

Katherine’s heart fluttered with fear as she 
watched him. 

“ You don’t think she is consumptive, do you, 
doctor?” she said, as she followed him to the 

door. 

“ Well, Miss Katherine, I only wish it was 
June instead of January.. The next two months 
will be hard upon her,” was the careful 

reply. 

A month after his first visit he said to Mr. 
Gaylord: “ Your wife is like her mother; and if 
we can not help her soon, I am afraid she will go 
in the same way.” 

“ Tell me what to do,” said the anxious hus- 
band. 

“She must go South very soon,” answered 

the doctor. 


The Special Meetings* 255 

44 What do you say to New Orleans 7 She 
has relatives there.” 

44 It is just the place ; and if she has relatives 
there who will care for her properly, so much the 
better he added, as he drew on his gloves : 
“My advice would be to have her go next 
week.” 

Helen at first refused to be sent South upon 
such short notice ; and declared it would require 
two months, at least, to prepare for the trip. At 
last, when she found her husband, the doctor, and 
Katherine, all inexorable, she said, as though 
raising an insuperable objection to the hasty de- 
parture : “ I can not leave my child, and I know 

it would tire me fearfully to take her.” 

44 Leave her with me,” said Katherine. 44 1 will 
take good care of her.” 

“You take care of her! You would soon 
weary of your bargain, Katherine.” 

44 1 will do any thing to restore your health, 
Helen.” 

Finally it was settled. Her sudden departure 
caused much comment in the small, gossip-loving 
community. 

In vain Dr. Gardiner repeated that he had ad- 


256 Her Bright Future . 

vised Mrs. Gaylord to go South. The scandal- 
mongers insisted that there was a great mystery 
about it. 

“ If there is not,” they said, “ why did she 
leave so suddenly, without telling even her near- 
est neighbors ? ” 

Miss Jane Crocker was made happy, one 
morning, by an invitation to assist Mrs. Azariah 
Carr in finishing a quilt she had upon the 
frames. 

“ Now, I’m agoin’ to see if Mis’ Carr knows 
why Helen Gaylord went away so suddin,” re- 
marked Jane, as she tied up in a little bag a piece 
of chalk, a thimble, scissors, and a bit of twine. 

She introduced the subject soon after her arri- 
val at Cousin Lucinda’s, as she warmed her feet 
in the oven of the kitchen stove, before going up 
stairs to the quilting. 

Mrs. Carr was skimming milk in her pantry, 
that morning. She was the best butter-maker in 
the county, and frequently remarked that — 
“most folks didn’t know how to skim milk. 
They’d put in half milk, and then wonder why 
their butter warn’t as good as hers.” 

Upon this particular morning, Cousin Lucinda, 


The Special Meetings. 257 

in her efforts to balance a pan of milk upon the 
edge of the stone churn, and keep her best glasses 
adjusted, found her mind fully employed, and 
gave absent-minded answers to Miss Crocker’s 
questions. Had she noticed the eager expression 
of the questioner’s face, she would have been 
more careful. Katherine now possessed money 
to maintain herself, and there was no danger of 
demands upon Azariah ; she rather liked the girl, 
and would have been the last to say aught to in- 
jure her. 

“ What made Helen Gaylord go away so awful 
suddin ? ” she answered. “ John thought Helen 
was goin’ into consumption, so he made her go 
right away to New Orleans, though Helen didn’t 
see how she could leave then, no how; but 
Kathie joined in, and told her she could keep 
house alone, just as well as not, and take care of 
Flossy ; and so between John, Dr. Gardiner and 
Katherine, they sent her off.” 

Plash! went the cream into the churn, as 
Cousin Lucinda finished her milk skimming. 
Miss Crocker went up stairs shaking her head, 
and muttering: “Poor thing! so they sent her 
away, did they ? No doubt Katherine Seymour 
R 


25» Her Bright Future . 

was glad to have her sister go away; as for John 
Gaylord, wall, I never thought much of him, any 
how. Oh ! I see through it all, now and Miss 
Crocker rubbed some chalk upon her twine, and 
thrust her needle into the quilt savagely. 

Shortly after, Miss Crocker invited some 
friends to take tea with her, Miss Cark among 
the rest. At tea, the hostess informed the com- 
pany that 44 Mrs. Azariah Carr had told all about 
Helen Gaylord’s goin’ off so suddin;” and how 
“that artful little piece, Katherine Seymour, had 
jined in with her brother-in-law and the doctor, 
right agin her sister.” 

At this, there was a general shaking of heads, 
with sighs, and “ did you evers? ” 

The scandal was started, and Linden Center 
was not the place to let it die. 

At the “ donation party,” given shortly after, 
the story was that Helen Gaylord had parted from 
her husband, and left Linden, never to return ; that 
Katherine was the cause. She was 44 settin’ her 
cap” for John, and had abused her sister shame- 
fully. Sally Stubbs, Gaylord’s hired girl, over- 
heard Helen weeping bitterly, and begging John 
not to send her away ; but that Katherine joined 


The Special Meetings. 259 

in, and said : “ Pshaw ! Helen, don’t act so fool- 
ishly! You really must go.” 

Honest John Gaylord was devotedly attached 
to his wife. While he thought Katherine a very 
fine girl, he had the conviction that Mrs. Helen 
Gaylord was the flower of that family. He was 
so honorable that suspicion never haunted him. 
Katherine, however, had an uneasy feeling, caused 
by the looks of the neighbors when she appeared 
at church and other public places. 

Although a strong religious feeling was deeply 
seated in Katherine’s earnest nature, she had not 
“ experienced ” religion. But the reports brought 
home by Sally from the “ special meetings,” im- 
pressed Katherine very seriously, when in one of 
her thoughtful moods. So, when Mr. Gaylord 
spoke one evening of going to the church, she 
assented, trusting to find there peace and hope. 

As they entered the church the congregation 
were singing “ Rock of Ages,” and the earnest 
voices touched Katherine’s heart. She thought 
of her past trials, and said to herself : “ Perhaps 
I needed all this to bring me nearer the Throne.” 

After the hymn, Deacon Mosely led in prayer. 
Katherine listened attentively, and said to herself • 


26 o 


Her Bright Future. 


“ Others get great good here ; why may not I ? ” 
When an aged woman arose, and told in piping 
voice how she “went out to milk her cow, and, 
lookin’ up, saw a young lamb, all washed and 
shinin’ white ; and then fell a prayin’ and groan- 
in’ in spirit ; how the Lord had suddenly spoken 
unto her, and told her to rejoice, for her sins were 
forgiven,” Katherine could find no comfort in the 
old lady’s long story, although while repeating it, 
shouts of “Amen,” “Bless the Lord,” and “Glo- 
ry to God,” came from various parts of the room. 
Katherine had never attended “ special meetings,” 
and the method of conducting services was very 
novel to her. She was uncomfortable, and the 
whole affair jarred on her religious conceptions. 
She told John she was ready to go home, long 
before the meeting was over. 

“ Did you get ‘ converted,’ my sister? or, were 
you only afraid you should, that you wanted to 
come away so early ? ” said John Gaylord. 

“ No,” she answers gravely, “ I was only afraid 
of being disenchanted. Somehow, every thing 
there grated upon me. I may not have been in 
the right mood. I did not like the ‘leaders.’ 
When Mrs. Walton said so confidently she knew 


The Special Meetings. 


261 


Jesus loved her, that her soul was safe, and that 
she did — oh, how she did — 4 love all God’s pre- 
cious little ones, and hoped many of them would 
be gathered into His fold ’ — to hear such expres- 
sions from such people, affected me very unpleas- 
antly. It made me feel wicked, and I don’t wish 
to feel so.” 

She was almost ready to weep over her disap- 
pointment. It seemed to her that night, as if 
truth was very hard to find, and shams so easy. 

“I knew you would not like it,” said hei 
brother-in-law, 44 although you were enthusiastic 
when we started; but allow me to say, Kathie : 
Don’t lose faith in a great and loving Father, be- 
cause some of his children fall so far short of your 
ideal Christian.” 

“Yes, John, I know all that; but I am afraid 
I shall never have a change of heart — I mean the 
kind of change they spoke of to-night.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself about that, child. 
You try to do your duty?” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“ And you trust in God, and strive to keep his 
commandments?” 

“ Yes ; but, somehow, that is not enough.” 


262 


Her Bright Future, 


44 1 admit that it is not ; but keep on doing the 
best you can, and the change will come. You 
may not have any sudden or special revelation, or 
go through the entire Christian experience — anx- 
iety, conviction, and at last arrive at a self-right- 
eous conception of your own perfections — all in 
the short space of three days.” 

“Oh, John, you must not talk so. I have no 
doubt they are far better than we.” 

In her own little room Katherine prayed earn- 
estly that night. She prayed that God would 
lead her tired feet safely into the right path. 
She did not attend the meetings again. 


Demanding an Explanation. 263 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

DEMANDING AN EXPLANATION. 

* Trust me not at all, or all in all." 

Jane Crocker had taken an active part in the 
n^e tings. She sat behind Mr. Gaylord and 
Katherine that evening, and when the young girl 
left church, she grasped Miss Cark’s arm. 

“ Just look ! ” she whispered ; “ did you ever 
see such goin’s on in all your life, Maria ? I won- 
der the brazen-faced thing dares show her face ia 
a meetin’ house. I should think she’d find it get- 
tin’ too hot for her here, and want to leave. Did 
you see her take his arm, as cool and familiar as 
you please? I should think her poor sister’s 
ghost would haunt her ; and it will if Helen Gay- 
lord dies from grief at the way she’s been treated. 
I wish Elder Lowbridge had spoken right out in 
meetin’ to ’em, don’t you? I wonder how the 
Seymour grit would have stood that ? There I 
I’ve been talkin’ so much, I’ve clean missed the 


264 


Her Bright Future . 


hymn Brother Mosely gin out. What was it, 
Maria ? ‘ Blest be the tie that binds ? ’ No, that 

ain’t it. It’s 4 Sweet hour of prayer.’ I’ve got it 
now;” and she joins in singing the beautiful 
hymn in a shrill voice. 

Miss Crocker carried home to her sisters the 
startling information that “Katherine Seymour 
came to prayer meetin’ with her brother-in-law, 
and left before meetin’ was out, just as we was 
singin’ the second hymn. I declare, it riled me 
up so, to see her walk in beside John Gaylord, 
the artful thing ! and there her poor sister is sent 
off, goodness knows where ! It riled me up so, 
I could scarcely hear a word Elder Lowbridge 
said.” 

Harriet and Eliza agreed that Katherine’s con- 
duct was outrageous. “ A1 says that girl ought 
to be put down,” said Harriet. 

“ Yes, I say so, too,” said Jane ; 44 but who’s 
a goin’ to try it? I’d like awful well to give her 
a piece of my mind ; law ! it wouldn’t hurt her a 
mite, though. She’d only give me a scornful 
look, and carry her head higher’n ever.” 

“I wonder why somebody don’t speak to Gay- 
lord, and tell him folks are talkin’ about his pay- 


Demanding an Explanation. 265 

in’ her so much attention. If I was Al, I’d do it 
to-morrow,” said Harriet. 

Oh ! I wouldn’t do that,” said Jane. “ Why, 
Gaylord would be awful mad ; he thinks Kath- 
erine Seymour is a regular saint.” 

“Well, then, why couldn’t some one write to 
that beau of hern, and tell him of her goin’s on ? 
It’s somebody’s Christian duty to write him. 
She’s always makin’ fun of old maids. May be 
she’ll be one herself, if she ain’t keerful. What 
is her beau’s name, any how ? ” 

“ Why, she writes to a feller named Frank 
Challoner; he lives in Florida. Leastways, Sally 
Stubbs had a letter she was carryin’ to the post- 
office, when she stopped in here, t’other day ; and 
she couldn’t make out the address, to save her 
life. I read it for her. It was 4 Mr. Frank Chal- 
loner, Jacksonville, Florida.’” 

“Why, I thought she liked that Barron who 
was out here, last Fall, ’tendin’ to Tom Seymour’s 
trial,” said Jane. 

“ Mebby she did like him ; and mebby she 
couldn’t git him,” was the answer. 

“ Sally Stubbs said she used to dress up awful 
fine for him, every day, when he was out here ; 

ia 


266 Her Bright Future 

and after he left, her eyes were red with cryin’, 
for a week ; and she didn’t eat nothin’, and staid 
in her room, with the door locked.” 

“ Is that so ? Why in the world didn’t you 
tell me that before ? You never tell me nothin’, 
Jane.” 

“ Well, it’s my opinion that some one ought 
to tell ’em how she’s actin’.” 

“But ain’t it a State’s-prison crime to write a 
letter and not sign no name to it?” asked Eliza, 
timidly. “ You don’t want to get no sheriff after 
ye, Jane.” 

“ Pshaw ! s’pose it is. Who’s goin’ to know 
about it, if you don’t go and tell of it yourself? ” 
answers Jane. 

“ Mebby she’ll be an old maid herself, yet,” 
muttered Miss Crocker, as she sat in her room 
composing the following letter: 

Mr. Frank Challoner : 

Dear Sir Knowing that yon are paying at- 
tention to a young lady who lives in this town — Katherine 
Seymour by name — I consider it my Christian duty to write 
and inform you of the manner in which she is acting. She 
has lately been the cause of serious trouble between Mrs. 
Gaylord, her sister, and that sister’s husband. She has per- 
suaded him to send his wife away from home, although Mrs. 


Demanding an Explanation. 267 

Gaylord wept and pleaded with her about it. Besides this, 
she has now the boldness to come with him to the house of 
God. She was at prayer-meeting with him on Wednesday 
evening ; but got ashamed of herself, I am glad to say, and 
left before the meetin’ was over. I saw this with my own 
eyes. Would she be apt to make any honorable man a good 
wife? 

I write this to you as a friend. I have nothing against 
her, but should hate to see an honest man deceived by her. 
No doubt she has fooled you, as she has many others before 
you. 

Now, dear sir, you will repent it bitterly, if you do not 
heed this letter, and be warned in time, by one who knows 
what she is sayin’. I hope you will not be deceived. 

From an unknown, but true friend. 

Barron received an exact copy of this letter. 
Miss Crocker had determined to do her work 
faithfully. 

The manner in which these letters were re- 
ceived was illustrative of the different character 
of the men. Challoner’s feeling, after first read- 
ing it, was that of angry disgust. That any one 
should dare to write him — Frank Challoner — an 
anonymous letter, concerning the young lady he 
intended to make his wife. “Confound their 
impertinence ! ” he muttered, as he walked home 
that day. 


268 


Her Bright Future . 


“ Frank, dear,” said his mother, as he came 
into the room where she was sitting, “ what has 
happened to you? You are angry about some- 
thing, I know.” 

“Yes, I am angry, and have good reason to 
be,” he answered. 

He was moody all day. 

“ Why is it Kathie is always getting involved 
with low people?” he thought; “people who 
write anonymous letters, for instance. There 
must be some reason for it. Other young ladies 
do not have such troubles. Fancy any one daring 
to write an anonymous letter about Nellie. I am 
afraid Katherine will be always causing these 
sensations, even after we are married, and there 
is nothing I dread like a sensation. I feel un- 
comfortable about that letter, although I don’t 
believe one word of it. It is not like her. No 
doubt the letter was written by some spiteful old 
spinster.” 

Try as he would to dismiss it, it still haunted 
him ; and he felt a certain unjust anger against 
Katherine. The sentence which said she had 
been fooling him, hurt most ; he was naturally 

jmlon*. * Horn soft, qui mat jr peine,” had 


Demanding an Explanation, 269 

never been a favorite motto, any more than 
“ Charity thinketh no evil.” The thought that 
he might possibly be the trusting dupe of a clever 
young girl, nearly maddened him. He wandered 
restlessly about for a week, and then astonished 
his mother, one morning, by declaring his inten- 
tion to start North the following day. 

He arrived at Linden Center in February. He 
had not apprised Katherine of his intended visit, 
thinking, if there was any truth in the letter, he 
would best discover it by surprising her. 

It was washing-day at Linden Center, and 
Katherine was sweeping the sitting-room, when 
she saw a carriage stop at the gate, and a gentle- 
man springing lightly out, came up the walk. 
After her first surprise at so early a visitor, she 
recognized Frank, and went to receive him. He 
tried to be cordial and natural, but it was diffi- 
cult. Suspicions tortured him. They talked 
upon common subjects, as people do who have 
not met for a long time. He described his jour- 
ney; spoke of the severe cold weather, and how 
keenly he felt it, coming directly from the South. 
At last, with his eyes upon the floor, he made an 
effort to appear natural, and said : 


270 


Her Bright Future. 


“ Where is your sister, Katherine ? ” 

“She is in New Orleans. Did I not write 
you about her going South for her health ? ” 

“ I think not.” 

“ I am sure I wrote you about it.” 

“ Then I never received the letter.” 

“Oh, quite possible I did not, after all. I 
meant to do so. I am sometimes absent-minded,” 
she answered, pleasantly. 

“ And why did you not go with her?” 

This was said anxiously, and she saw that he 
was cross-questioning. 

“I was obliged to stay and take care of 
Flossy, and keep house for my brother-in-law 
and Tom.” 

“ Ah ! I am very sorry you remained here, 
Katherine.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I don’t think you can blame me, Katherine, 
for having strange thoughts, under such circum- 
stances.” 

“Explain what you mean by ‘strange 
thoughts,’ please.” 

He answered by taking Miss Crocker’s letter 
from his pocket and giving it to her. “ Head it,” 


Demanding an Explanation . 271 

he said, 44 and then see if you can blame me for 
being unhappy.” 

She read the letter quietly, betraying no emo- 
tion of surprise or pain ; when she came to the 
middle part, a deep flush covered her cheeks ; a 
feeling of indignation arose within her. 

Challoner, watching, thought it a blush of 
conscious guilt. At last she raised her eyes ; the 
look made him feel very uneasy ; never more so, 
in all his well-bred, self-possessed life. In the 
depths of those clear eyes, he saw there was a 
smouldering fire. At last it faded, as did the 
scarlet from her cheek, leaving her deathly 
pale. Then came an expression of supreme con- 
tempt. 

“For Heaven's sake, do not look at me so. 
Can you blame me for feeling anxious, after re- 
ceiving that letter ? ” 

She had grown calmer, and answered coldly : 

“ Do you believe the contents of that letter ? 
The question seems almost unnecessary, as you 
have already answered it by your manner.” 

“ I — can't say I believe all ; but — ” 

44 You either believe it, or you do not.” 

“I will tell you frankly what I think. You 


2 y 2 Her Bright Future. 

must have acted indiscreetly, to say the least, or 
no one would have dared to write so.” 

“Mr. Challoner, I will be as candid as your- 
self. You remember our difference in the garden 
at Hillsdale, and your manly advice at that time ? 
I see by your face that you have not forgotten. 
You know that I released, or offered to release 
you from your engagement; but you would not 
accept it. Now you come to ask an explanation 
— an explanation of what ? — of a vile, slanderous 
letter, sent you by an unknown enemy of mine. 

“ I refuse to explain any thing. To any manly 
lover, that letter would explain itself — the work 
of malice. Do you not realize the injustice you 
are doing me — the insult you heap upon me, by 
your shameful doubt ? Do you think I can en- 
dure such things? that I would venture to place 
my future happiness in the hands of a man who 
has so little stability — so little trustfulness ? 
Twice, and in times of my sorest need, you have 
proved selfish, cowardly and faithless. Do not 
speak, please ! ” 

“ Katherine,” he cried, “ you will repent hav- 
ing so wronged me.” 

“I shall surely repent, if I rely on a single 


Demanding an Explanation. 273 

one of those tows with which you were so prodi- 
gal when all was fair.” 

She stepped into an adjoining room, and went 
to the little box where she kept his letters, and 
offered him the package. 

“ I refuse to take them,” he said, “ and shall 
not believe what you say while in your present 
mood.” 

“If you will not accept, I can burn them,” 
she said quietly. 

This was more than Challoner could endure. 
Looking round for his hat, he arose to go. 

Little Flossy, arch-queen of mischief, during 
the lover’s abstraction, had carried his carefully- 
brushed beaver into the kitchen, and filled it with 
soap-suds from Sally’s wash-tub. Katherine 
found her busily blowing soap-bubbles from it 
with an old pipe. The little creature was 
supremely happy — still as a mouse, and busy as 
a bee. 

The hat was ruined. The entire situation was 
so absurd that, heart-sick as Katherine was, she 
could not help laughing at the picture Flossy made. 
She seized the hat, emptied the dirty water, and 
tried to dry it — all in vain ; it was ruined. Car- 
ia* S 



274 H er Bright Future . 

rying it into the sitting-room, she tried to explain 
why it was wet ; but Challoner’s dignified man- 
ners, and the whole ridiculous affair, were too 
much for her composure. 

She had been sorely tried that morning, and 
was in the mood when one will laugh or cry on 
the slightest provocation. 

Challoner’s look of angry surprise made the 
afFair seem more comical to Katherine ; and, drop- 
ping into - a chair, she covered her face with her 
hands, and burst into subdued laughter. 

Ridicule was something to which Challoner 
was peculiarly sensitive. Taking the ruined hat, 
he bowed low. 

“ I have the honor to wish you good-bye, Miss 
Seymour. I am glad to leave you in so happy a 
humor,” he said haughtily. 

When she looked up, he was gone. 


Seen Through a Cloud. 


*75 


CHAPTER XXYIL 

SEEN THROUGH A CLOUD. 

Barron found Miss Crocker’s letter upon his 
office table one morning. Looking closely, he saw 
that it was from Linden Center, and that the ad- 
dress was in a strange hand. A great dread came 
over him. Perhaps Katherine was ill. Alas ! 
what if she should die ! 

He hesitated long before opening the letter. 
At last, saying with a sad smile, “ It is more 
probable she is married, and has sent me her wed- 
ding cards,” he opened the envelope. Walking 
to the window, and holding it close to his eyes, 
he tried to read ; but the writing was fine, and 
not very plain, and the words seemed blurred. 

“ Read this first,” he said to his clerk, as the 
young man took a package of unopened letters 
from a table, and prepared to read them. During 
the Winter his eyes had troubled him very much, 
An eminent physician said they must have entire 


zj6 Her Bright Future . 

rest, as the optic nerve was diseased ; therefore he 
had not read even his private correspondence for 
months, nor taken pen in hand, save to sign his 
name. It was a heavy cross. His restless na- 
ture required constant employment, to prevent it 
preying upon itself ; and especially now, when 
his life, viewed in the light of his great disap- 
pointment, seemed a waste. 

Work had been his one panacea. He was 
moody, easily irritated at times, greatly changed. 

“ Well, why don’t you read ? ” he asked, im- 
patiently, as the clerk hesitated. “ It is not 
written in Greek or Sanscrit, is it ? ” 

“ I fear you will be very angry, sir, at the 
contents of this letter,” said the young man, 
timidly. 

“ Well, it is mine ! Why don’t you read, and 
not talk about it?” The clerk hesitated no 
longer. Barron listened, making no audible com- 
ment; but his face grew white. He requested 
the clerk to read it over again ; then, taking it 
from him, thrust it into the blazing fire, and 
said : 

“Let this be the last of that, Gray,” as he 
watched Miss Crocker’s carefully written letter 


277 


Seen Through a Cloud. 

in flames. M It is infamous ! The person who 
wrote that deserves hanging. You may leave 
me alone now.” 

“ Now I see why Mr. Barron goes so little into 
society,” said the clerk to himself. “ This young 
lady out West is nearer than a mere friend to 
him.” 

Left alone, Barron paced restlessly up and 
down his office. “ Poor little girl ! ” he said, sad- 
ly ; “ she has a bitter enemy in the writer of that 
letter ; how very strange that they should write 
to me. I wonder if they wrote to Challoner. If 
they did, he is just the man to let it annoy and 
alarm him. The vile slander! I should like to 
know who wrote it. I might write Katherine — 
poor, innocent darling! — and warn her against 
an enemy. But I could not without explaining 
all this, which might appear as if I believed it. 
She is so sensitive. No! I will not let her know 
any thing about it. Probably whoever wrote it 
knows nothing of her engagement with Challoner, 
or they would not have written to me. My poor 
darling! How my heart yearns! How I long to 
comfort you in all your trials ! Alas ! why have 
I not the right to protect you ? Can any one love 


278 Her Bright Future. 

you as I do ? Will they cherish you as I 
would ? ” 

Long ago she had given him a miniature of 
herself. It had been his constant companion ever 
since. Taking it from its resting-place near his 
heart, he walked to the window and gazed long 
and tenderly upon that face. There was a look 
of strained intensity in his eyes, but the picture 
looked dim as if seen through a mist. He 
could scarcely discern the well-loved features. 
The sorrowful truth dawned upon him with new 
meaning. His sight was failing rapidly each day. 
Returning the picture to its place, he bowed his 
head upon his hands, and gave himself up to pas- 
sionate grief and despair. 


Drifting Apart 


2 79 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

DRIFTING APART. 

■Lift, oh, lift, thou lowering sky, 

And thou canst thy blue regain ; 

An thou canst not, he and I 

Need not part for drops of rain." 

A great sorrow has fallen upo.n Barron. He is 
in the consulting-room of a celebrated oculist, 
who has just given an opinion regarding Barron’s 
eyes. 

“He bears it like a hero,” the doctor says to. 
himself, and continues aloud : “ It is almost impos- 
sible to reach the optic nerve, and that is where 
the disease is located ; while I can not say there 
is much hope, I have heard of this disease being 
cured. I would not deceive you by saying recov- 
ery is even probable in your case. I have told 
you the worst, as you requested. You should 
have stopped work one year ago, Mr. Barron ; you 
must have absolute rest.” 

Barron smiles, as the doctor says he must have 
complete rest. It is a sad smile. 


280 Her Bright Future. 

“ My finding ‘ complete rest ’ on earth ! ” Bar- 
ron says inaudibly. “ I should like rest — perfect 
rest — the rest that one finds under the green 
turf.” 

There is a tear in the doctor’s sympathetic 
gray eye, as he watches his patient out of sight. 

“ I call that courage,” he said. “ A man of 
his restless ambition — in the very midst of a bril- 
liant career — learns he is in danger of becoming 
totally blind, yet bears up under it and never 
winces. By Jove ! the Spartans are not all dead 
yet. Ah ! this is a hard world.” 

Barron walks straight from the doctor to his 
office, and throws himself on a lounge, crying 
in despair. 

“I may live ten, twenty, thirty years yet. 
My God I I can not bear it ! I shall go mad I 
Jack,” he says, as a magnificent brown setter 
comes up slowly and rests his head on the lounge 
near his master, looking sadly in his face, “old 
fellow, I do believe you are sorry for me. You 
and I will cross the ocean together.” 

Three weeks later, as the stately “Ocean 
Queen ” left New York, she numbered among her 
passengers Hartley Barron, George Grey, his 


Drifting A part . 2 8 1 

clerk and traveling companion, and “ Jack,'’ his 
trusty friend. 

Early in the Spring, Helen Gaylord returned, 
much benefited from her Southern trip. She 
noticed the unhappy expression which had settled 
on Katherine’s face lately. 

“Tell me your trouble, child! I may help 
you,” said Helen; and Katherine told her 
all. 

After telling the story, Katherine began to 
weep. 

“ I did not know you loved Frank Challoner 
so much,” said Helen. 

“ It is not my love for him that troubles me ; 
but I fear Mr. Barron was also written in the 
same way, by whoever my enemy may be. I am 
so very unhappy here ! I can not remain where 
people say such things about me, false though 
they are. O Helen! let me go back to Hills- 
dale!” 

“ You shall go soon, Katherine. I know you 
will never be contented here. I will write aunt 
. Emily to-night ; so be cheerful, dear ! ” 

One bright Spring day they visited the home- 


*8 a Her Bright Future, 

stead. How familiar every path seemed to Kath- 
erine I As they rode through the slough before 
coming to the locust avenue, Katherine looked 
down and saw the wet green grass, starry with 
cowslip blooms, just as of old. Birds were sing- 
ing, and she could fancy Tom and herself again 
in childhood, with surroundings unchanged. 

When they had driven through the avenue, 
and were upon the open space before the house, 
she realized it was no longer the old home — it 
had passed into the hands of strangers. 

Mr. Dalgren had converted the brown house 
into an ornamental stable, and was building a 
handsome residence, where he could entertain 
his city friends during the shooting season. 

In the garden Katherine found the rose bushes 
her mother planted years ago. Many of the old- 
fashioned flowers she and Tom had planted, when 
children, were budding in the same beds. The 
orchard was in bloom, and she visited Tom’s fa- 
vorite tree. Mr. Dalgren had left many of the 
old land-marks of rustic beauty. Katherine 
thought him less a Vandal when she found 
these spots of sacred memory. As they rode 
back, their quiet manner was evidence that the 


Drifting Apart 283 

visit revived the pleasure and sadness of the 
past. 

Edward Seymour and Mrs. Fielding are at 
Hillsdale this Summer ; Sarah and Lottie are 
with them. 

Lottie is soon to be married to Harry Feather- 
stone. Sarah looks happy and bright ; she, 
too, is engaged to be married. Her betrothed is 
a wealthy, middle-aged banker, devotedly fond of 
her. 

Mrs. Fielding has resolved to take Katherine 
under her own management, now that Sarah and 
Lottie are well provided. She had never borne 
any real dislike toward the girl ; although once 
Katherine seemed to stand in the way of her am- 
bition for Sarah. 

“ I never was so happy in my life, Kathie ! 
You know I always admired Harry,” said Lottie, 
the night after Katherine’s arrival, then blushed 
at her own enthusiasm. Katherine stopped brush- 
ing her hair, and kissed her cousin affectionately. 

“I am so glad, for your sake,” said Kath- 
erine, kindly. Then hesitatingly asked : “ Does 

Mr. Barron call upon you often, Lottie ? ” 


284 Htr Bright Future. 

44 No, poor fellow ! He did not call once after 
his great misfortune. He is in Europe, now,” 
was the answer. 

44 Why do you say 4 poor fellow,’ Lottie ? ” 

44 Because he is blind, or very nearly so ; there 
is but little hope of his recovering his sight, al- 
though he has gone to some great German estab- 
lishment, where they make diseases of that nature 
a specialty, and say they can cure every body, 
you know.” 

44 He is true to me,” was the hope which rose 
in Katherine’s heart. When alone, that night, 
her thoughts were across the ocean. Now she 
knew the cause of his silence. 

44 My proud, noble love ! ” she thought ; 44 why 
did you not let me know ? Could you doubt my 
perfect love ? Why am I not with you, to com- 
fort and help you in this hour of darkness ? ” 


So Very Impractical \ 


285 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

SO VERY IMPRACTICAL. 

“All the world I rove, 

Seeking still for thee. 

Do thy glance and hand 
Wait for me?” 

“We will go to Saratoga.” 

After announcing this decision, Mrs. Fielding 
looks at her niece, who is sewing by the window. 
They are all together in the parlor at Hillsdale — 
the newly married couples, who have just re- 
turned from their wedding tour, Mrs. Fielding, 
and Katherine. 

It is a warm day, not a breath of air stirring 
the maple leaves. The sun, shining through the 
branches, makes the lawn a piece of quaint mo- 
saic. A spicy scent from the clove pinks and 
late roses comes in at the open window, touching 
Katherine’s heart with a feeling of pleasure, 
strangely mingled with pain, as her thoughts 
carry her back to last Summer. At Mrs. Field- 
ing’s remark, she looks up in surprise. 


286 Her Bright Future. 

“Why, Aunt Fielding, I thought you liked 
Hillsdale, your loose wrappers, your novel and 
after-dinner nap. What pleasure or comfort can 
you possibly find at Saratoga ? 99 

“ Yes, I like the freedom and quiet of Hills- 
dale for myself,” said Mrs. Fielding, “and it is 
certainly very warm ; but there are duties toward 
you which I have never forgotten, though cir- 
cumstances have made it appear at times as if 
I had. My dear, you must be properly intro- 
duced into society — launched, I may say, on the 
stream of fashionable life. You have youth and 
beauty, and money enough to enable you to 

dress well. Your chief want now is a 

chaperone ; one who thoroughly understands 
her duty as well as her responsibility, 

and has tact. I admit that it will be some- 
thing of a sacrifice for me to leave here 

now; but whatever my shortcomings may be, 
I am not in the habit of neglecting duty for 
personal ease. You have seen very little of the 
fashionable world, my dear. I don’t know as I 
am sorry, for your freshness will be the more 
charming. Did I tell you I had received a letter 
from aunt Caroline Allen, Lottie ? ” 


287 


So Very Impractical . 

“ You did not mention it to me,” answered 
Lottie, who was embroidering a most elaborate 
pair of slippers for her husband. 

“I presume you hardly know who I mean by 
‘aunt Caroline Allen,’ ” continues Mrs. Fielding, 
resuming her conversation with Katherine. “ She 
is your great-aunt — your grand-mother Seymour’s 
sister. She married a wealthy Baltimore gentle- 
man, who left her a fortune, when he died, some 
ten years ago. She is a delightful old lady, and 
is intending to spend a few weeks at Saratoga, 
with Major Allen. The Allens are one of the 
first families in Baltimore, in wealth and blood. 
Aunt Caroline desires me to come to Saratoga 
while she is there, and I shall take you with me, 
Kathie.” 

“How kind you are, Aunt Fielding,” cries 
Katherine, her face flushing with surprise and 
pleasure. No young girl could accept a proposi- 
tion to visit Saratoga, entirely unmoved, even 
when her heart is “ over the sea.” Music, danc- 
ing, new dresses, fresh scenes and faces, never 
lose their charm until we are past twenty- 
five. 

Fanning herself languidly, Mrs. Fielding con- 


288 


Her Bright Future. 


tdnues: “I think we had better begin your 
dresses early next week.” Thus was it settled. 

Katherine soon finds herself amid the bril- 
liant society which yearly gathers at this most 
fashionable of American watering-places ; drink- 
ing disagreeable mineral waters, listening to fine 
music, chatting with sages and fools, invalids and 
athletes, the refined and vulgar, buoyant youth 
and expectant middle age — and mingling in the 
dance, as though her heart had never known a 
sorrow. 

“ Miss Seymour, my nephew, Major Allen,” 
said aunt Caroline Allen, a stately old lady, one 
evening ; and Katherine bows to a tall, soldierly 
man, with a kind face. 

It was soon arranged by the agreeable old 
aunt and managing niece, that Major Allen 
should accompany Miss Seymour during her 
drives and promenades. This tall major knew 
how to be very agreeable, and when you knew 
him well, his calm face grew very pleasant. 
Several times Katherine noticed it brighten with 
interest. His nature is a rarely noble one. The 
two aunts, meanwhile, looked upon the young 
people complacently, and praised the merits 


So Very Impractical. 289 

and virtues of their respective nephew and 
niece. 

“ My nephew, Mtyor Allen,” remarks aunt 
Caroline, “is a brave man, and his principles are 
so different from those of most men. He is the 
soul of honor, my dear — the soul of honor.” 

“ I quite agree with you,” answers Mrs. Field- 
ing. “ I like him exceedingly. He must be nearly 
thirty ; and, of course, is engaged.” 

“ No, he is not engaged. James has paid little 
attention to ladies ; but he seems to admire Miss 
Seymour.” 

“ Oh, yes ; she has been much admired,” Mrs. 
Fielding answers proudly. “ Katherine is an un- 
usual girl, and has had several offers of marriage, 
young as she is ; but she ought to marry some one 
who has both fortune and position. One, without 
the other, would be very unsatisfactory to me.” 

Meantime, the young people became warm 
friends. The elastic spirits of youth began to 
reassert themselves in Kathie. Her old bright- 
ness returned, and she grew daily more charming. 
She forgot for a time to live in dreams. To com- 
plete happiness, the supreme joy of love is only 
wanting in Katherine’s heart. The hero of seve- 
il T 


290 Her Bright Future . 

ral battles — the soldier who has never surren- 
dered sword — is entirely humbled. His heart 
capitulates without terms to this “little prairie 
flower,” as he was pleased to call her. 

“ Why, Katherine ! I don’t see what you could 
have been thinking of, to refuse Major Allen. 
You have not refused him. You are not in earn- 
est. Don’t you thank me, now, for not letting 
you marry before ? How would it suit you to be 
the wife of a blind man ? Only think, how mis- 
erable ! and Barron will be obliged to give up 
business. He is not very wealthy, you know. I 
am sure I acted for the best, Katherine,” said 
Mrs. Fielding, when she discovered the major’s 
love for her niece. 

It was the first time she had mentioned the 
“diplomacy” she had exercised in New York. 
The remark jarred upon Katherine. Her indig- 
nation gave her* courage to inform Mrs. Fielding 
that she had refused Major Allen’s offer of mar- 
riage. 

“ Oh ! ” groaned Mrs. Fielding, “ are all girls 
fools? It does seem as though they were. I 
have had trouble enough with my own. Thank 
Heaven! they are settled in life at last, I do 


2 9 : 


So Very Impractical. 

hope you have not allowed yourself to pine over 
Hartley Barron all this time. You look guilty. 
I do believe you love that unfortunate man yet. 
If so, I regret that you have deceived me so long. 
Had I known it, I should not have taken upon 
myself all this trouble and expense. You are a 
very strange girl, if not a very ungrateful one.” 

Mrs. Fielding was growing angry. 

“ I never meant to deceive you,” answered 
Katherine, “ and you need not be troubled about 
Mr. Barron, for he does not care for me now. He 
had an opportunity to tell his love for me, if he 
had any, last Fall. I think him the noblest of the 
few noble men it has been my misery and pleas- 
ure to meet. If I knew that he loved me, were 
he blind, deaf and lame, I should be the happiest 
of girls, and the proudest, too.” 

“ Indeed!” was Mrs. Fielding’s reply. “We 
had better return to Hillsdale. Perhaps in a 
year’s time, you may regain your senses. I deep- 
ly regret that you deceived me, and so openly 
encouraged Major Allen, only to break his heart, 
in return for all his kindness and devotion. I 
always thought you a strange girl. From this 
time forth, I shall not trouble myself about you 


2 92 


Her Bright Future . 

rest assured. I am thankful for one thing: my 
conscience is clear. I have done my duty as well 
as you would allow me. Your conduct is. past 
my understanding.” 

Katherine was weeping. It grieved her to be 
called ungrateful, or deceitful. 

“ What did you tell the major this morning? ” 
asked Mrs. Fielding. 

“I told him that I did not love him well 
enough to marry him, although I respected him 
very much, and prized his friendship, and was 
grateful for all his kindness to me.” 

“ Well, what did he say then?” 

“He said he was willing to wait until I could 
love him ; that he thought he could win my love 
some time ; that he wished I would think it all 
over calmly and conscientiously, and not give 
him my final answer just now.” 

“ Oh ! so you are still encouraging him ? I 
thought you refused his offer.” 

“ I did, at first ; then he pleaded with me, and 
I told him I would consider it ; but I am quite 
sure my answer will be the same. Oh! I am 
always in trouble,” sobbed Katherine. “ Do let 
me go back to Hillsdale. I don’t want to stay 


293 


So Very Impractical. 

here any longer. Why could he not remain my 
friend, just as he was ? I needed a friend, one 
whom T could trust, so much.” 

“ Friend ! Fiddlestick ! ” said Mrs. Fielding, 
impatiently. “I know what such friendships 
always lead to, and so do you, Katherine.” 

“ Aunt Fielding, don’t blame me, for I am a 
most wretched girl.” 

“Yes, and when you might just as well be one 
of the happiest, and most honored. Think what 
a brilliant future you would have as his wife. I 
wish you were a little more practical, and less 
poetical. You are too visionary for this life, any 
way.” . 

“ I have been told so ever since I was a child ; 
the advice I have received has not helped me 
much, so far. You may make me miserable, but 
you can not make me practical — that is, in 
the way you mean ; and I don’t know 
as I desire to be so. All the small-souled 
people I have ever known have had it said 
of them as their chief recommendation — I almost 
hate the word. 

“ Is not every great project first in the form of 
a thought, a dream, or a vision, long before it 


294 


Her Bright Future* 

assumes shape ? Any thing unusual is called im- 
practical by common people. Columbus, in his 
day, was a visionary fool. We must have practi- 
cal people, I admit; but if we ever reach the 
higher realms of thought, art, or science, it will 
be through the dreams of this visionary class of 
men.” 

“ I can not say that I understand your odd re- 
marks ; but you are growing excited and unlady- 
like. I have tried to do my duty toward you, 
and I am sure you will regret not having taken 
my advice. To-morrow we will return to Hills- 
dale and Katherine was left alone. 

She was, indeed, a puzzle to Mrs. Fielding. 
Her independence of thought and feeling were 
strangely at variance with her otherwise yielding 
disposition. 

“She must be like her mother, in her queer 
notions,” sighed Mrs. Fielding. “ The Sey- 
mours, as a race, are remarkably successful, and 
there is something about this girl which will pre- 
vent her ever being so — even with her beauty 
and talent. She is almost eccentric sometimes — 
eccentric women are dreadful. The idea of her 
clinging to Hartley Barron as she does ! It is 


So Very Impractical. 295 

absurd. Because he has been so unfortunate to 
lose his eyes, it need not follow that she should 
wreck her life by marrying him to show her 
loyalty. Circumstances change in this life, and 
we must follow them. How different are Hartley 
Barron’s prospects now to what they were when 
Katherine first met him. He would have been a 
brilliant match for any girl then ; what a blessing 
that my Sarah did not marry him ! ” 

She still had Hugh on whom she could exer- 
cise her ability and desire for match-making ; 
but that young gentleman proved quite as refrac- 
tory as Katherine, and insisted upon paying his 
attentions to a saucy little girl, whose mother 
was a boarding-house landlady, near the stately 
mansion of the Fieldings. Think of it, gentle 
reader, and drop a tear of pity over poor Mrs. 
Fielding’s afflictions. 

Katherine was contented, although not quite 
happy, in Hillsdale ; and spent much of her time 
out of doors, in long, lonely rambles through the 
fragrant pine woods. She had written several lit- 
tle poems, which, if they possessed no particular 
merit, served to keep her mind from brooding 
oyer a painful subject. 


296 


Her Bright Future . 


Tom was being prepared for college, under trie 
instruction of a clergyman friend of his uncle 
Edward, who lived near Hillsdale. Katherine 
and Lenore would often drive over to see him. 
One fine day in late Summer, while returning 
from one of these visits, Katherine’s heart sang 
this little paean, prompted by the glorious weather 
and picturesque scenery through which they were 
passing : 


LATEST SUMMER. 

Ah ! Summer time, sweet Summer time, 
Too soon your scepter you must yield. 

I know it by the paler skies, 

And bare, brown stubble field ; 

By the tall ranks of golden-rod, 

Peering the wayside fences over; 

By swarms of yellow butterflies, 

Flitting above the sweet, red clover; 

By distant reaches ’twixt the hills, 
Embathed in shadowy amethyst ; 

Wild, purple morning-glory blooms, 
And splendid sunset — morning mist ; 

By dainty boats of thistle-down, 

Floating upon aerial seas ; 

By here and there a scarlet leal 
Upon the yellowing maple trees* 


So Very Impractical . 


297 


By cricket’s chirp and plover’s cry; 

And slirill-voiced cat-bird’s lazy calling 
Soon, soon, will Autumn breezes blow, 

And set the leaves a-falling. 

But how, ere frost has dimmed the flowers, 
Or on the forest laid his hand, 

There comes a tranquil time of peace, 

A sweet enchantment o’er the land. 

As though, once more, the golden age 
Of peaceful labor, love and mirth, 

Had come from out the classic past, 

And smiled upon the waiting earth 
And oh ! the soul, the poet soul, 

Which for this time hath waited long, 
Joyfully feels the heavenly thrill, 

And breaks out into tender song 

IS* 


I 


298 Her Bright Future 


CHAPTER XXX, 

BETROTHAL, 

** But, for the general award of love, 

The little sweet doth kill much bitterness.” 

Another year has gone its busy round of days, 
bringing happiness to some, mourning to others, 
changes to all, and, once more, bright Summer 
weather. 

Katherine is upon the broad piazza of the old 
house at Hillsdale. There is an open letter upon 
her lap, which she has been reading i 

New York, June 10 

Dear Friend: — I have just returned from Europe, and 
met Featlierstone, who told me you were at Hillsdale. 

I am going soon to Merton, and would like to call upon 
you. I can not bear to go so near the place where I spent six 
pleasant weeks, one never-to-be-forgotten Summer, without 
seeing it again, especially when I find you are there. So, 
with yoor kind permission, I will drive over from Merton 
Tuesday evening. 


Betrothal . 299 

If you prefer that I should not come, a note to that 
effect will find me at Merton. 

With kind regards to all, and hoping to see you soon, I 
remain Your sincere friend, 

Hartley Barron. 


This is all. It is quite enough to make her 
very happy. She reads it again, although she 
knows every word of its contents, already. 

“ Poor fellow ! ” she sighs. “ It is written in a 
strange hand. He is so sensitive about his 
blindness. He does not mention the matter here, 
but of course he can not have been cured, or he 
would have written the note himself. Tuesday 
evening — oh, my love ! my hero! he will soon be 
here.” 

Walking into the garden, she breaks off a tea- 
rose for her hair. She thinks of his blindness 
with a sigh — the dear eyes, whose sight has van- 
ished “like lights blown out, o’er melancholy 
seas.” 

“ Brave, kind eyes ! they will never brighten 
at seeing me again,” she murmurs, with tears of 
pity in her own ; but there is a flush of happy 
expectation upon her cheek, in spite of the tear 


300 Her Bright Future . 

and the sigh. “He is coming! He is coming!” 
her very heart-throbs seemed to say. 

Slowly the purple shadows around the moun- 
tains deepen and darken. The sun sets in splen- 
dor. The birds in the maple trees twitter sleepily, 
as they nestle cosily for the night. It is quite 
dusk. 

She can not stay m doors — there is a tumult 
in her veins. She has thrown a light shawl 
around her, and is pacing up and down the garden 
walk, listening to the whip-poor-will softly call- 
ing. Three times have the plaintive notes been 
heard, when Katherine’s heart gives a great bound 
of joy, so intense as to be almost pain. 

Some one has opened the gate, and there is a 
manly step upon the graveled walk. Nearer came 
the footsteps — nearer, nearer. She feels a strong 
desire to run away, but a stronger desire to look 
again upon that manly face, which has not shone 
upon her, except in dreams, for two long years. 

He had passed through the house, and is close 
to her now. He takes both her trembling hands 
in his own. He tells her in a voice, which falters 
with strong feeling, of the pleasure he feels in be- 
ing in hit native land once more ; “ and, of all 


Betrothal* 


301 


places in my native land, this garden is the dear- 
est, 1 ” he says. “ Heaven bless it ! May its flow- 
ers always bloom. May sunshine and rain make 
it the fairest spot on earth. It is a garden of 
Eden to me, darling, since I find you here to- 
night, my life ! my love ! my all ! at last. Do you 
remember that long-ago night, when I first told 
you how I loved you? and then, alas! cast aside 
all hope, as one who jumps from a burning ship 
into a boatless sea. I wished to act honorably, 
though God knows I was sorely tempted to do 
otherwise. To-night, I come to claim you — 
never again to surrender you to any one, I trust. 
Tell me that you love me, Katherine, once more. 
I wish to be sure I am not dreaming. It is diffi- 
cult to realize such bliss.” 

Her heart beats too violently to speak. His 
strong arms enfold her ; she does not shrink from 
the embrace. He feels that he is answered. Both 
hearts are full. Love, held by the slender, silken 
cords of Faith, has triumphed ! 

4< Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk, 

Unknown to any, free from whispering tale,” 

They sit together — the moon and stars peep out 


302 Her Bright Future. 

— the evening is nearly over, although to them it 
has seemed but a few moments. Love conquers 
Fate and Time. Barron and Katherine sit close 
to each other. 

“And in that hurtle of united souls, 

The mystic motions, which in common moods, 

Are shut beyond our sense, broke in on us; 

And as we sat, we felt the old earth spin, 

And all the starry turbulence of worlds 
Swing round us in their audient circles.” 

The moon is full now, and the whip-poor- 
will sings less sadly, it seems to them, for their 
hearts are full of happiness. 

“We really must go in, Katherine,” says Bar- 
ron, gently. “ Your aunt will blame me, and 
with good reason, for keeping you out so long in 
the damp evening air. I found her in the parlor 
when I came, and she told me where you were. I 
hurried out, for I wanted to tell you of my un- 
conquerable love, here — the place where I first 
learned that you returned my love. Oh, 'how 
magnet-like my heart has ever turned to the 
memory of that night, in the face of the convic- 
tion that honor demanded full renunciation ! How 


Betrothal . 


303 


often have I dreamed of meeting you, yet all hope 
was clouded. When I went away I supposed 
you would soon marry Challoner. When Feath- 
erstone told me you were here, and free, my 
heart told me all the rest. I knew there was no 
mistake ; you were as inseparably bound to me 
as I have been to you. 

“ Now, Katherine, you shall not leave this en- 
chanted garden until you name the day you will 
become my wife! Soon — soon — I hope. We 
have suffered long enough. These two last years 
of heart-break must have no more added to their 
dismal length. ” 

She clings closer to him, as she answers: 
“ Will you let me tell you something, and promise 
not to think me cruel for alluding to your great 
misfortune to-night ? ” 

“Of course I will, dearest, though I don’t 
know what you mean by ‘ alluding to my misfor- 
tune.’ I am the most fortunate, the happiest man 
in the world to-night.” 

“Well, it is only this. I longed earnestly to 
go to you when I heard you were blind. I 
grieved more about that than even about the fear 
that you had ceased to love me. If possible, I 


304 


Her Bright Future . 


love you more, since your great loss. Affliction 
seems to draw us closer than the natural ties. 
Dear Barron, you shall not feel that loss as you 
have done. I will use my eyes for both.” 

He interrupted her, with a bright smile upon 
his handsome face ; and turning so that the moon 
shone fully upon them, bade her look into his 
eyes. 

Surely the eyes that met her own must see ; 
for that tender, loving look of old is in them. 

“ Oh, Hartley!” is her joyful cry, “you are 
not blind — you are not blind. Tell me, quick ! ” 

“ Yes, dear, I can tell you truly, I am no more 
blind than you are, thank God!” he answers, 
reverently. “Do you think I would be selfish 
enough to ask you to join your bright young life 
to mine, if I were blind? What a noble heart 
you have, my queen — ‘tried and true.’ You 
would have been loving enough to let it make no 
difference to you, I know; but I should never 
have asked you to make the sacrifice. Had I not 
recovered my sight, I should never have come 
here.” 

“ Why did you not write and tell me of your 
good fortune, Hartley ? ” 


Betrothal ’ 


305 


‘Because, my love, I did not think Mrs. 
Frank Challoner would be interested in my 
affairs; and I have only been at home one 
week.” 

“ Your letter — it was in a strange hand. How 
did that happen ? ” 

“ It was not my writing ; but I did not intend 
to deceive you. The physicians have forbidden 
me to read or write for one year ; but I can see 
as well as you. That rose in your hair is very 
becoming,” he added, roguishly. 

“ Oh, Hartley ! God has been good to us.” 

“ He is good to every one, my darling. His 
chastenings are sometimes hard to bear. I think 
I came as near doubting Divine mercy and good- 
ness, as I ever did, when I thought I had lost 
you. Even my blindness did not cause me so 
much suffering. You see I do not speak extrava- 
gantly when I say that you are dearer to me than 
my eyes.” 


U 


306 


Her Bright Future. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

IN CONCLUSION. 

“And who feels discord now, or sorrow ? 

Love is the universe to-day.” 

There is a wedding in the church at Linden 
Center. Katherine’s robes are of the purest 
white ; and instead of the old brown hood, with 
sad child-eyes looking out from its gloomy depths, 
a delicate wreath of orange-blossoms adorns the 
graceful head. 

Helen hovers near, a tearful, guardian angel ; 
and Lenore, the “ first bride’s-maid,” is arranging 
the folds of a veil which “ half reveals and half 
conceals” the bride’s radiant beauty — draping 
her as with a white cloud. 

In the parlor, a little group of relatives and 
friends are awaiting her appearance before going 
to the church. 

Cousin Azariah, in a new black coat, bought 
expressly for the present occasion, and whioh is a 


In Conclusion. 


307 


trifle too short in the waist and sleeves, is moral- 
izing upon the changes that have taken place 
within three or four years. “ Yes,” says cousin 
Azariah, looking down and twirling his thumbs, 
“yes, it is a strange, changeable world, this. 
There is poor Alf Seymour dead and buried ; 
Tom gettin’ to be a great tall feller, and goin’ to 
turn out one of the smartest lawyers in the State, 
some day, mark my words ! Katherine goin’ to be 
married to-night. Seems as though it was only 
a year or so ago since she was a baby, these child- 
ren grow up so fast. Wall, wall, it’s the way of 
the world — births, marriages-, and funerals — dy- 
in’ and bein’ born ; man-yin’ and givin’ in mar- 
riage. I hope Katherine is goin’ to do well, and 
I guess she is. Law ! he justs worships her, and 
she thinks there ain’t another man in the world 
his ekel. I kinder thought when he come out 
here and worked so hard to save Tom, that he 
liked our Katherine. I always did say when 
them poor children were left with skersely a 
friend in the world — I always did say to Lucinda 
that somebody ought to help ’em along in the 
world.” 

u Yes,” chimed in Mrs. Azariah, 4k Mr. Carr 


308 


Her Bright Future. 

and me always took a deep interest in Alfred Sey- 
mour’s children; but who would have supposed 
they would turn out so well, brought up as they 
were, without Sunday-school privileges, and with 
no one to teach them the gospel or catechism ? 
But, Azariah, ain’t it most time for us to be goin’ 
up to the church ? I hear the bride cornin’ down 
the stairs.” 

Edward Seymour has come West to be present 
at the marriage of Katherine, who he declares to 
be “a true Seymour,” and presents her with a 
volume of the Family History. “That is the 
worst of it all,” he says, smilingly, after the cere- 
mony, “you can’t keep your family name.” 

“ Ah ! but I have had so much trouble under 
the name of Seymour, Uncle Edward, that I am 
glad to change it, and see if the change will not 
bring me good fortune,” is her answer. 

“ If it does not bring you happiness it shall 
not be my fault,” whispers Barron ; and her hap- 
py face grows still brighter at his words. 

So these two are wed. I think their future is 
one of promise. It has been no light fancy which 
has drawn them together. 

Barron has waited so long for his happiness, 


In Conclusion. 


309 


he concludes to give himself a holiday. Their 
bridal trip will be to Europe. Katherine’s eyes 
will feast then upon the art treasures of the 
old w'orld ; and her “impractical” nature drink 
deep at the fountain aunt Seymour so despiseth. 

“And on her lover’s arm she leant, 

And round her waist she felt it fold; 

And far across the hills they went, 

In that new world which is the old. 

And o’er the hills, and far away 
Beyond their utmost purple rimy — 

Beyond the night, across the day, 

Through all the world she followed him.” 

1 have learned to love them both so well, that 
I am loth to leave them ; but they do not need 
me longer ; for the happiest people, like the most 
prosperous countries, have no history. 

Katherine finds in her husband’s devotion 
ample compensation for her past pains and sor- 
rows. The dark clouds are left behind ; she looks 
forward, and beholds 


Her Bright Future. 


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A Brilliant Story of American Life, 
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BRIGHT FUTURE 


BY +► 

k. emAPP 

—AUTHOR OF t, 

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CHICAGO: 

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foregoing, plans for each floor in each and every dwelling of which an enl 
graving is given. It has, also, valuable information relative to building con* 
tracts, tells how to calculate for everything iu connection witha building, such 
as number of shingles required m a roof, quantity of plaster for a house, quad 
tity of materials required for building a house, etc., etc., and much other ill 
formation of permanent and practical value. 

Any one of the plans is alone worth very much more than the price askel 
for the book. It is invaluable to every architect, builder, mason or carpenteil 
and particularly do we urge all who anticipate erecting a new or remodelina 
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It will be sent, post paid, on receipt of price, by 

GEO. W. OGILVIE, Publisher, 

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